


DreamWeaver

by michinnyun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Force-Sensitive Reader, Good Parent Din Djarin, Pilot Reader, Possessive Sex, Protective Din Djarin, Reader-Insert, Sleeping Together, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Soft Din Djarin, THE RAZOR CREST IS NOT DESTROYED, The Helmet Stays On, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Vaginal Fingering, You're Welcome, mando is a soft boy with you, no y/n, there is now smut, touch starved reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michinnyun/pseuds/michinnyun
Summary: Piloting a Razor Crest to save a Mandalorian was not something you ever imagined yourself doing. The galaxy is vast, and human lifespans are short. And the Razor Crest is, well, large. Very large, you think, as you nearly clip the side of a mountain pass, avoiding blaster fire.__No one said being on Mando's crew would be easy.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 85
Kudos: 493





	1. Lavender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

Piloting a Razor Crest to save a Mandalorian was not something you ever imagined yourself doing. 

The galaxy is vast, and human lifespans are short. And the Razor Crest is, well, large. Very large, you think, as you nearly clip the side of a mountain pass, avoiding blaster fire. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins as you tease the accelerator, trying to time the cutoff just right so that you can pull up before crashing into another rocky outcropping. You succeed, but the other guy doesn't, enemy ship exploding into a tiny supernova behind you as a triumphant smile overtakes your face, and a shaky whoop escapes with your exhale. You look over at the child to see his arms extended high above his head in excitement. He's just happy to be along for the ride.

You may have shaken the first ship, but the second is still hot on your tail, and your celebration is cut short when their blaster fire hits an engine. It doesn't seem too bad, since you're still alive, but there's an ugly groan coming from that part of the Crest. You desperately hope the damage won't be enough to take you out of the fight before you can get to Mando.

Gritting your teeth, you start calculating how to switch positions with your little friend. There's a burst of static from your comm-link, before a familiar, gruff voice is speaking to you from the console. "You need to get higher." 

Even in a situation like this, you can't help the flutter that erupts in the base of your stomach, the prickling on the back of your neck. You try to snap back into focus and open the link. "I'd sure love to, boss, but this wonderful gentleman fried an engine, and I think if this lasts any longer it'll be me who needs saving."

You try to mask the panic in your voice with humor, but it falls short. You know from the silence on the other end that he can tell. That, or the quarry is being "uncooperative" and he's too busy to respond.

You're a capable pilot, sure. He knows it, you know it. That's why he hired you. Your uncanny instincts and trigger accuracy are what compelled him to keep you on in the first place. But you're also a person. A twitchy person who is occasionally prone to nerves, especially when your role as getaway pilot is being hindered by some assholes after the same bounty.

Punching out a breath, you mutter, "Here goes nothing," before engaging the thrusters and soaring into the lavender air. The sky on this planet is beautiful, and you sincerely hope it's not the last thing you'll ever see as the groan becomes a screech, and you're putting your plan into action. The ship gives chase, and you're spiraling, avoiding blaster fire before you cut the engine and drop like a rock. The enemy pilot flies on, disoriented, and you smirk as you fall, blaster aimed at the tiny ship now in your line of sight. You know, even before you fire, that it's going to be a direct hit. After your work is done, you turn the engines back on and correct the ship, following Mando's coordinates. 

__

It's pathetic, really. 

The rush of heat that comes to your face when you land with the bay door open, the way your heart thumps when Mando grumbles a, "Good work," while dragging the shrieking quarry to the carbonite chamber, the way you glow, warm and soft when he picks up the kid and checks on him before going to inspect the damage to the engine so he can get you all the kriff out of here.

You want to kick yourself for being so weak. And probably so obvious.

When you've left atmo and gone into hyperdrive, you vacate the silent cockpit, unsure what to do with all your nervous energy. It briefly crosses your mind that you might've impressed him today. You shake your head, feeling ridiculous again. You've seen him do all kinds of crazy maneuvers. That was probably just another day on the job for him.

Downstairs you inspect the face of the quarry, twisted in agony, and think about cutting your hair shorter before you hear him coming down the ladder. "Back to Nevarro?" you ask without looking away. You've fallen into a routine with him. He finds jobs, takes you here and there across the galaxy. You just watch the ship, and the baby, and make sure he has a speedy getaway. In the few months you've been on his crew, this is the first time you've ever had to draw fire away from him like that. Fight your own battles. It was nice, but your hands won't stop shaking.

You feel more than hear his nod. He has a way of doing that, you've noticed. Silent communication. He's moderately talkative with other guild members, sometimes even bounties, but not so much with you. You get the feeling he enjoys the quiet, the easy silences in between chaos. You also get the feeling he's still unused to another presence on his ship. Another person to talk to on the off days. You can always sense him, his reactions, his shifting moods, his stoic calm. It's unnerving.

Turning from the woman, an ugly alien race you don't have the name for, you face him, comfortable silence descending before you breeze past him to the tiny food storage area shoved next to the water filtration system. "Eat anything yet? Can't do any good bounty hunting on an empty stomach." You rip open the flimsy packaging of a ration bar, splitting it in half and offering him one end. He hesitates before taking it from you, sitting awkwardly after a heavy, "Thank you."

You roll your eyes at his formality, taking a big bite before you ascend the ladder, giving him his privacy. "I'll just go check on the controls. Make sure we're going in the right direction. Aren't running into any Imps and getting vaporized."

When you plop down on the pilots seat and look up at the stars streaking past, you think about his stoicism, and your tendency to overcompensate with chatter and jokes when you're flustered. You sigh, wishing you could be more like him. Cool, calm. Unaffected. Unfortunately, you are very affected by him, in every sense of the word.

After a while, you find yourself dozing restlessly before the doors to the cockpit open once again and you can feel Mando settle into the seat behind you. You don't open your eyes when he speaks.

"I thought you were checking on the controls." 

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you're watching the lights behind your eyes when you answer. "We haven't dropped out of hyperspace so clearly nav's working. The Empire isn't gonna find us here. I just wanted an excuse to be alone," you admit. He's still quiet when you open your eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, after a beat. You didn't expect that. You hear a little gurgle and realize he's got the kid with him. It's strange how this arrangement feels less like a job, and more like a family, though you'd never say it out loud. You wouldn't say you're the mothering type either, but you feel a connection with the little one. A pull. To his dad too, though that's a little different. You don't know how to explain to him how you almost died today, like, every other second. And that's probably not a big deal to him, but it's a big deal to you. The kid could've died, and Mando would be alone right now, and it'd be your fault.

You shiver, and realize it's taken you too long to answer. You turn to him with a wry smile. "Yeah Mando," you say, fidgeting with the zipper on your vest. "All good."

You can tell he doesn't buy it, but what is he gonna do about it? More silence descends, and you're filled with a hollow ache. 

Eyes fluttering shut again, you fall into a fitful sleep, your little green crewmate cooing contentedly as you slip into dreams.

__

 _Brave,_ you hear in the darkness. _Brave, strong, soft._

It's Mando. You can hear Mando in your dream. Of course, he's made appearances in your dreams nearly nonstop the past few weeks, but this is new. Usually he's quiet, a steady presence in the back of your mind. He's never talked before, not here. 

You move through the murkiness, your body not quite tangible yet. 

There's a glassy wall ahead of you, and a dark shape behind it. _Brave, smart. Helpless._ His voice is almost urgent. Helpless? _Need to protect them. Need to protect_ her.

You step back, confused. Is he talking about you? You and the baby? A pit is opening in your stomach, anxiety swirling in a whirlpool. 

"Mando?" you call out.

He pauses his train of thought. Says your name, and presses his hand up to the frosted divide. You can feel your consciousness solidifying as you place your hand to mirror his, and then you wake up.

__

Sitting up with a start, you realize you were moved to your bunk at some point. Bunk is a kind word for it, it's mostly a nest of blankets in a corner of the ship that wasn't being used. Still, it's yours, and you're sitting there now, blinking sleep from your eyes, the memory of your dream not quite receding like it usually does.

You look behind you, and see the door to Mando's compartment is closed. He must've needed some sleep too. After the mess.

How did he get you down the ladder? And how did you not wake up? You blush at the idea of him carrying you in his arms, tucked into his armored chest, oblivious to the world. What you wouldn't give to do that in a more aware state. Groaning, you get up, only to hear the kid's cries from inside the compartment. A second later, the door is sliding open, and you and Mando are face to face. You try not to jump back as he gets out and crowds you, the kid in his arms, wailing its head off. 

"Could you..." he trails off, and you notice with a start that the gravel in his voice is even grittier with sleep. You're staring up at him, invading his personal space, when you realize what he's asking.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you stammer, blush from earlier still blazing on your face. You take the child from him, silently cursing your body for being so obvious when in his proximity. Stepping away, you rock the baby until his fitful cries lessen, and go to find him something to eat. Mando is sitting at the edge of the compartment now, slumping against the side, and dozing, you guess. 

He seems relaxed.

Giving the kid his protein broth, you steady your palms on the durasteel counter. It's cold, very clinically built. Made for convenience, not beauty. You can see your warped reflection, and privately think you're much the same.

"Mando," you say softly.

You hear him shift. 

"Do you," you start, but then think better of it. "What is it?" he asks. You hesitate for another beat before you go on. You consider Mando to be a friend, and you think that means you can trust him to be honest with you. 

"Do you think I'm helpless?" 

The question hangs in the air for a long moment. You can feel his quiet shock, but at what, you can't tell. It wasn't the reaction you expected. To be fair, you didn't know what to expect at all. You're still staring at the counter, refusing to look at him.

He stands up, slowly, like someone who's trying not to startle a wounded loth-cat. He makes his way over to you, ignoring the kid making slurping noises, and forces you to look up at him.

Surprising you, he takes your face in his hands. You can't think, you can't breathe, you're just staring into the T of his visor.

Then, he leans in, and presses the cool beskar of his helmet against your forehead. Your eyes slip shut, and you try to remain as still as possible, trying to draw this out as long as you can, whatever it is. 

There's a quiet understanding, a current that passes between you. You know without him having to say anything. You are his clan, his partner. He knows you're not helpless, and yet in the same breath you know he would die to protect you, to protect the kid. 

His hands release you, and it takes everything in you not to lurch into him when he goes back to his spot on his bunk.

The baby crawls up to him, cooing and making grabby hands until Mando picks him up and puts him into his hammock-bed. He shuffles back, and before the compartment closes again you hear one word, soft, spoken like he's worried you didn't understand.

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to get this series started! I have a lot of ideas, and I hope you guys come along for the ride with me!


	2. Casino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: A little drinking and the reader gets drugged, but nothing too crazy. It's important to the plot and nothing bad happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

After Nevarro, and a dicey exchange with Greef Karga, it's back on the road for another series of bounties. Neither one of you has acknowledged your moment in the hull of the ship. To be honest, you're not entirely sure you didn't just hallucinate it. 

On the way to Cantonica, you tell Mando you should come with him on the hunt, and he agrees.

Surprise is still painting your features when you touch down on the smooth sand of Canto Bight, far from the lights and bustling noise of the gambling city. Your shock has worn down to trepidation as you walk off the ship, trailing behind Mando. 

You didn't think you'd get this far.

The baby is quiet, for once, as you weave through the sandy streets to the big casino, bright and glittering in the distance. He's floating along in his pram, distracted by the little metal knob that he's so fond of. "Hey," you admonish softly. "When'd you get that?" You gently pluck it from his fingers and stash it in your pocket. He can play with it later. Right now, you don't have time to worry about whether or not he's going to choke to death if you aren't minding him.

Entering the casino, you’re floored by the decor, clean lines and sparkling glass. The game tables and bar are occupied by species you’ve never seen before, though you’ll be the first to admit you hadn’t seen many before you met Mando. You notice a receding rumble, and many of the libations at the bar have pools of amber liquid ringing their bases.

You hedge a guess. “Race fathiers?” Mando nods.

He drifts to the bar and you follow, eye on the baby as he babbles nonsense, just as fascinated with the environment as you had been. You hope you didn’t gape like that. Compared to the elaborately dressed patrons surrounding you, you look like a womp rat in the wrong part of town. You don’t need to embarrass yourself any more.

You flag down the bartender and ask them for spotchka, the only drink you can think to order. You flush with more embarrassment when they give you a strange look. Mando quietly asks for a Corellian whiskey, neat, placing the credits nondescriptly on the counter. Trying to hide your redness by cupping your face with your hands, you lean your elbows on the shiny counter. You’re definitely going to need that drink after this.

Food would be good, if they even have any. It'd be nice to have something besides ration bars, but you're afraid to open your mouth again. There’s a tiny part of you screaming that you’re out of your element, but you’re determined to prove it wrong as the bartender slides the whiskey over to you. You catch it and nod your thanks, sipping the dry liquid and wincing. You smack your lips and turn to Mando. “This tastes like engine fuel.” 

He chuckles softly at your rasp, which makes your heart skip a beat, then turns to survey the crowd. Many of them are looking back in turn. A Mandalorian, here! Your eyes stay on him, and trace the light reflecting off his helmet. You’ve imagined what he looks like a thousand times. If he’s expressive, or if his face is just as closed off as the beskar. Small nose, big nose, facial hair, eye color. Maybe he has a huge scar or some other facial deformity. Maybe one of his eyebrows arches higher than the other. Maybe he has no hair at all.

You’re falling into that hopeless train of thought again, lost in speculation. You find it happening more and more often now, as you spend more and more time with the Mandalorian. Burning curiosity for his true self peeking through. You want to know him like no one else knows him.

Shaking yourself a little to snap out of it, you swirl the liquid around in your glass. “So… what now? Do you do this on every hunt or did you just want to buy me a drink?” He turns back to you, that expressionless mask. You take a burning gulp and keep your joking smile plastered on. “The quarry isn’t expecting anyone to be looking for them. It’s a fairly recent bounty, and I suspect they have bigger things to worry about. The fob didn’t give me precise coordinates, I just know they’re here somewhere. We need to draw them out without causing a scene.” He pauses for a second. Moments like these are the hardest, when the gaze of his visor is on you but you can’t tell if he’s actually looking. Your heart is beating out of your chest, not knowing if you should keep facing him or look away.

Breaking what you can only assume is eye contact, you just hum, taking another sip of your terrible drink. “This should be easy, then.” He’s quiet, and you get the feeling he’s staring. For a second you’re worried you said the wrong thing, that you’ve been joking around too much. Then you’re apprehensive. He only acts like this when he gets an idea.

“Mando,” you say warningly. “What are you thinking?” You don’t like the glint coming off his helmet. 

“Stay here,” he says calmly. “With the baby. I’ll be back.” Dread drops like stone into your stomach, but you don’t protest when he strides away into the crowd. He stands out as it is, and you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night.

Your little green friend babbles up at you as you take a sip from the glass you’d seriously consider throwing into a nearby receptacle if Mando hadn’t bought it specifically for you. “Yeah?” you say to him, striking up a nonsense conversation. “Oh, totally.” More gurgles. “That is actually a really good point, go on.” You’re starting to feel just a little ridiculous to be doing this in public when you hear a low voice behind you join in the conversation.

“I actually disagree,” he says, flagging down a different bartender than the one you had fumbled with before. The child speeds ahead, excited to have an audience. “Well now, how can you say that, when there’s a lot of evidence to suggest that-” the baby cuts him off, and he slowly nods. “No, you’re right, how could I think such a thing?” The bartender comes over and takes his order, but you don’t hear because he’s looking at you with piercing blue eyes the whole time he’s speaking. He’s humanoid, with some sort of short lekku. Not Twi’lek, and he’s most certainly not Togruta. Maybe a hybrid of one or the other, which seems out of place in such a high collar establishment. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks from his attention.

He’s not unattractive.

“Don’t see many kids around here,” he says conversationally. Your hackles raise. To be fair, it's a bar, and you brought an ancient green baby. It’s probably just an observation.

“I like to switch things up,” you say, finishing off your drink. It burns on the way down.

“I can tell,” he smirks and the bartender slides him two glasses. One he keeps for himself, the other he passes to you with a nod. You smile hesitantly, but don't move to accept.

It’s strange, having someone's full attention on you. His interest is not unwelcome, but you're here for a bounty, and don't need a distraction. The drink he passed you has white crystals on the rim, and you're tracing the grit with your fingers when he clears his throat.

“I'm Reymar Vale,” he says. “I haven't seen you around here before.” His smile is very disarming, and you find yourself relaxing a bit. 

You gesture down to your clothes, clearly underdressed in such a swanky establishment. “Do I look like the kind of person who frequents a place like this?” 

He chuckles, and despite your trepidation, it's a pretty sound. 

“You look better than most of the scum I have to deal with.” Reymar sips his drink, surveying the crowd. Was that a flirtation? Are you overthinking this already?

You eye the drink he gave you, and decide it's probably safe. Bringing it to your lips, you’re pleasantly surprised to find it's sweet like jogan fruit, with a bitter undercurrent. Delicious.

“What’s a woman like you doing in good old Canto Bight?” You didn't expect the question, and nearly choke on your drink. 

“Oh, you know,” you say, trying to think of a convincing lie. “Just making my way through the galaxy. Showing my kid the sights.” You hope he doesn't notice the outline of the blaster tucked in your pants through your vest. You also hope he didn't see you with the tall and extremely reflective Mandalorian before he stalked off to Maker knows where.

He nods, looking at the baby. “That your kid?” You try to appear nonchalant, taking another big gulp of the sunset orange liquid. 

“He looks more like his dad.” For all you know, that could be true.

Reymar looks disappointed at the mention of the kid’s father, and you realize with a jolt he might've been flirting with you. 

Someone was actually flirting with you.

“Hm. Is he around?” he asks, trying to be casual after the bold query.

You weigh your options quickly in your head. Mando might come back soon, and then how do you explain all this? On the other hand, the ship can be so lonely sometimes, and your feelings for Mando are probably going unnoticed. There's only so much silence a woman can take.

“No,” you answer, dipping your eyes down and looking up from under your eyelashes. “I'm on my own.”

His smile is charming, and you find you quite like his eyes on you. And what’s wrong with wanting a little attention from someone? It’s not like you're getting much on the ship. There’s a little warning signal flashing inside of you right now, but the alcohol is smothering it. You’re starting to feel a little strange, but not unpleasant.

“Would you care to join me on the balcony?” He proffers an arm to you in a gesture so dated you have to laugh through your buzz. 

Taking his arm, you pass crowds of people surrounding game tables and slots. You don't even see a single Sabacc table, this place is so high-end. The people are practically throwing away money, when you and Mando have to scrap so hard to keep the ship going. It seems a bit frivolous, but you can't gather your thoughts quick enough to judge them. 

The baby is floating behind you, babbling happily at passers by, who are in turn gawking at him. You’ve never seen anyone else that looks like him, and you're assuming they haven't either. “What a funny looking pet,” you hear a woman with white eyelashes and an extravagant headpiece murmur to her partner as you walk past. It's hard to stifle your giggle.

The stars are swirling the tiniest bit when you finally make it to the balcony, and your senses feel especially dulled. It’s hard to stay upright, and you mumble something about how even you aren't this bad after only two drinks.

He leans close, and you can't hear the baby. Panic is trying to claw up your throat, but you can’t feel it anymore. You feel light and airy, unencumbered.

“Thank you,” he murmurs in your ear, and it tickles. Something cold and metallic is closing around your wrists. “For making this so easy.”

Before he can get the cuffs on, he’s suddenly thrown off you with an, “Oof.” There's a flash of metal, but you don't focus on it as you slink to the floor and trace the patterns of the smooth rock. You hear a rough voice say, "Dank farrik," but it's eclipsed by the loud rumble of the fathiers below.

You’re humming softly in time to the sounds of impact next to you. It’s a nice melody, echoing the band playing in the main room.

Suddenly, a mass joins you on the floor, and Reymar’s there, hands behind his back and blood trickling from his lip. You frown, smudging it with your thumb. His eyes are closed.

“What happened to him?” you ask, looking up. Mando is gazing down at you, and you think your head is clearing a little. His outline isn't as blurry as it was before, anyway.

“Me,” he grunts as he helps you to your feet, steadying you with gloved hands on your shoulders. Butterflies.

Tripping, you fall into him with a happy sigh, feeling fuzzy in the brain, pleasant and soft. He stiffens just a little before his arms are around you. You think a hand comes up to brush through your hair, but that's probably wishful thinking. He's so warm, and strong. Your chin is digging into the cold metal of his chest plate, but it's so nice just to be held by him. A dreamy voice inside of you whispers that he’s probably not used to contact like this. It's the happiest you've felt in a long time.

“Come on, _cyar'ika_ ” he says softly. “Let’s get back to the ship.” _Cyar'ika?_ You have to stop yourself from whimpering and reaching for him when he releases you and begins to drag Reymar, revealing a hidden passage. 

“What kind of casino has a secret passage?” you ask no one in particular. Frowning, you notice you’re well hidden from the gamblers by leafy plants and a wall. There's no one else here.

Following Mando, you stumble a little. He can’t carry you and Reymar at the same time, so you try your best to follow as closely as you can. Eventually, you grab onto his pauldron for support, even though it's not really necessary. The contact makes your insides warm again.

Somewhere in the desert, Reymar wakes up and begins shouting obscenities. Mando warns him to be quiet unless he wants a black eye to go with his split lip. A rush of heat travels up your spine and you giggle. After that, you catch bits of their conversation, but you're too interested in the shapes the stars are making to pay attention. A laugh bubbles out of your chest in wonderment.

On the ship, you quickly settle down into your bunk to the sounds of Reymar's screams, the hiss of the carbonite chamber escorting you into oblivion.

__

_It’s not safe here._

You’re in that place again. The dark place. You try to hold up your hands, touch your face, but there’s nothing. You can’t feel anything when you’re here.

 _Please,_ you hear someone say. A woman. 

Her voice sends a pang through you, and you don’t know why.

_Ama, you are putting me and my family in danger. I must ask that you leave._

_You’re my only hope. Please, I need you to hide her._

She sounds desperate, and scared. There are tears building in your chest, but you can't cry. What is this?

There's a long pause, and you can see the divide, the dark shapes moving behind it. _She will never be the same after this. You realize that, don’t you? Everything that makes her special will be gone._

Another pause. A long inhale.

_Do it._

__

You wake slowly this time, and the edges of the dream are crumbling, giving way to a massive headache. You sense that you've had that dream before, but it’s never been that clear, even as the details are melting away. 

Groaning, you sit up. You blink tears away, surprised at their presence.

Your joints feel creaky, and your limbs are heavier than durasteel. You chug two cups of water before you decide you should probably talk to Mando. Climbing the ladder is near impossible, but you grit your teeth and do it anyway.

The closer you get to the cockpit, the more you realize exactly what happened on Canto Bight, and the more you start to dread your next conversation with Mando.

Wordlessly, you open the door and take the seat behind him, lifting the child from where he was sitting and putting him in your lap. You stroke his downy ears to distract yourself from your pounding headache and dry mouth.

The normally soothing hum of the ion engines is grating on your nerves, the gentle beeps coming from the console, too. You’re miserable. You wanted to come on the hunt to prove you weren't helpless, and look what happened.

“So,” Mando starts. “How are you feeling?” His voice is too loud in the tiny cockpit, and you stifle a groan. “Just fantastic,” you grumble. “How are you?”

There’s an awkward pause. “I should probably apologize,” he says. You shift in your seat, curious. “Vale’s a trafficker for the Hutts. At least, what’s left of them. Wanted by the New Republic.” You’re silent. “I figured he might go after you if I left you in the open.”

More silence.

“You… used me as bait?” You don’t feel shocked. You can’t feel much of anything besides the pounding in your head. He’s quiet again before he nods. “That’s…” You’re not really sure what to say. He got the quarry, like you wanted. And technically, you helped. “I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. I didn’t think he’d… I’m not sure why I let that happen.” 

You rub your eyes, trying to soothe the ache behind them. “I don’t know how he got spice into my drink. I was watching him the whole time. I hardly remember anything after that.” Mando shifts. “The bartenders are part of his operation. He pays them off, I’d guess. Probably not the only one doing something like that in there.”

You feel disgust crawling under your skin. It’s quiet long enough for your headache to go from pounding to a dull ache. It would've been nice if you had known. Maybe then you wouldn't feel like such Bantha shit right now. “It’s okay Mando,” you say after a while.

“It’s not,” he snaps. You nearly flinch, his anger's so unexpected. He hardly ever gets upset in front of you. The baby gurgles and tugs at your vest pocket, and you reach inside to produce the little knob. “Mando, I’m fine. Really. Just a headache, and we got the quarry.” You can’t stand the idea of him feeling guilty over this. “I should’ve known better than to take a drink from a guy like that.”

He says your name softly, a warning, and you drop it.

When you arrive at the next planet and decide to stay on the ship with the baby, he doesn’t protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done so much research for this story I should be a Star Wars historian. Also, sorry for the angst at the end. I didn't expect this chapter to go the way it did, but I hope you guys liked it? Let me know what you think.


	3. Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

When Mando leaves the ship to find the next bounty on Florrum, it gives you lots of time to reflect on what a laserbrain you were on Canto Bight. You want to tear your hair out, you're so frustrated. Instead you just take it out on Reymar Vale, flicking his scrunched carbonite nose whenever you pass his frozen slab.

Stupid, stupid. You know Mando was watching the whole time. Watching you flutter your lashes at a tall stranger and fall for such an obvious ploy. You were never in danger, but you're supposed to be his partner, for kriff’s sake. It would've been nice if he had at least given you a heads up.

“Dank farrik,” you spit, trying to pry off the paneling so you can access the tangled wires under the console. Figuring you might as well make yourself useful, you were planning on organizing them in case you need to make quick repairs in a pinch. Instead, it’s only fueling your raw anger. You swear you can feel your blood boiling in your veins. 

You’re mostly mad at yourself. Mando probably feels bad enough, and you’re the one who got swept up in the glitz of the gambling city. Normally your instincts keep you out of trouble, but something had been off that night. You feel an angry chill go down your spine.

A wire gets yanked. There’s a loud clang at your feet, and you duck your head out to see one of your wrenches at the foot of the hatch. You could've sworn it was next to your utility kit, far from the door.

You crawl over, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Suddenly, the hatch door is whooshing open, and you’re on your knees before a towering Mandalorian. Gulping, your anger melts away and is replaced with… something else. Your self imposed exile has been cut short.

“Um. Hi.” He sounds more gruff than usual.

“Hey.” You scramble to your feet, face burning. “You’re back early.” He grunts, and tilts his helmet as if looking past you. “What’d you do to the cockpit?” 

You glance back at the tools strewn about, and the rogue wires hanging out of the console. “I-um,” you stammer. “I didn’t think you’d be back for a while. I wanted to reorganize the console’s mainframe wiring.”

He nods slowly. “The quarry knew I was coming. We need to get a move on.”

“The kid’s taking a nap, I’ll go get him.” You kick the tools to the side, where you hope they're less in the way, and scurry past Mando, down the ladder. When you’re in the main hold, you flip off Reymar Vale one last time before you grab the baby from his hammock.

He’s sleepy, yawning hugely as you buckle into the copilot’s seat.

“Where to, boss?” Mando looks back at you from the pilot’s seat. 

“Yavin 4.” Your heart nearly stops beating in your chest. That’s your home planet. Well, technically home moon.

It’s where you met Mando.

He reaches forward to start the ship, and you catch a glimpse of his bare wrist, completely on accident. Coarse, dark hair and tan skin. Quickly tucking that piece of visual information into the “For Later” compartment of your brain, you try to calm the erratic beat of your heart as the child burbles and coos in your arms.

__

The air on Yavin 4 is thick, sticky, and it’s choking you to death. 

Though you haven’t told Mando, your memories before meeting him are sort of a blur. Following him out of the ship with the child sleeping soundly in his pram, you stretch your legs and take in the scenery. There’s a fleeting familiarity to this place.

The New Republic set up shop on the jungle moon long ago, but you tended to avoid those high-traffic areas, growing up during the Imperial era. You weren’t involved with the Resistance during its heyday, so it’s not like you have any friendly contacts here. You really don't feel like risking a stop-and-frisk when you’re running with a Mandalorian.

“Is there…” Mando speaks for the first time since you landed, and you look up at him. “Anyone you wanted to, um. Visit?” Smiling at his timidness, you gaze back into the jungle and listen to the swaying of the trees in the wind, the chatter of insects and wild things. It’s huge and green and lush, but there's no comfort settled deep in your bones. Not the way there is when you’re sitting in the Crest with the baby and… him. When you’re nestled in the cockpit, watching hyperspace reflected in his helmet, ready for the next adventure.

This is not your home anymore.

Shaking your head, you start an easy tread. Mando follows.

“Before I met you I don’t think I saw much of anyone. There’s nothing here for me.” He’s quiet.

Thinking back, you can only remember how bored you were before Mando showed up and swept you away. Before he saw your skills, and asked you to join his crew. Thank the Maker he did. It’s boggling to think what your life would be like if he hadn’t found you all those months ago.

“Were you lonely?” he asks. You glance back at him again, and notice how bulky his armor is. You’re already working up a sweat- he must be dying under all those layers. 

Walking back up to him, you reach up to unpin his heavy cape. Gathering all your courage, you fold the thick cloth in your arms and look into his visor. 

“Not anymore.”

__

When you reach the outskirts of the Great Temple, identified by the fob as the hiding place of the quarry, you don’t ask for permission to come and finish the job. He doesn’t mention it.

Your blaster is tucked in its usual place, and you pull it out in anticipation, setting it to stun. No one’s going to get the better of you this time. Mando’s cape is wrapped around your shoulders, and while it makes you feel less exposed, it doesn’t exactly alleviate the oppressive heat weighing down on you.

Warmth rises to your cheeks when you realize that you’re technically wearing Mando’s clothes, but you quickly snap out of it. Now is not the time to get distracted.

You can see a few X-wings sitting in a small clearing, and wonder why in the kriff a wanted person would choose this as a hiding place. “What exactly are we looking for?” you ask. Mando’s right behind you in the copse you’re spying from, and you startle when you realize how close he’s standing. No, no, you’re staying focused. You’re not staring at the hand balanced on a tree trunk right next to your face and thinking about how big it is, how he could probably wrap the whole thing around your neck if he wanted to.

“Quarry’s ex-Empire. Wanted, if you can believe it, by the New Republic.” You laugh nervously. “Get an awful lot of those lately. Maybe one of these days they'll actually make a difference.” He’s looking at you. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he's getting closer, crowding you like he does on the Razor Crest. You can always justify it on the ship since there’s not a lot of room-of course he’s in your personal space. Not here, though. There is an entire jungle at his disposal, and he’s still closing in on you.

You’re paralyzed against the tree trunk as he lifts a gloved hand and tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You look good in the cape,” he says with his modulated voice. His tone is low, hand cupping your cheek now. A sweet-smelling breeze is blowing in from the clearing, finally providing some relief from the stifling heat, but you can barely feel it. You swallow thickly, bounty nearly forgotten, when you hear rambunctious conversation coming from the direction of the X-wings. 

Both you and Mando swivel your heads at the same time, and he grabs your arm to further conceal you inside the foliage with him. 

“That’s him,” he says softly, and you need to strain your eyes to see. Since you don’t have a magical metal bucket on your head that lets you see mid-range distances, you can only make out some of the details of a few tall orange blobs, with the addition of a pale short one.

Mando holds up the bounty puck to show you, and you recognize the short man. Based on the puck, his hair is shorter and his face more gaunt than what you can discern from a distance.

In the hologram, he wears a crisp Imperial officer’s uniform.

You shiver, turning back to look at the man conversing with the pilots. “Hanging with the crew that wants you imprisoned for war-crimes is a ballsy thing to do.”

You feel Mando’s shrug. “Hiding in plain sight. It’s not the move I’d make, but it’s something.”

Through the thicket, you spy the unmanned X-Wings and can feel a plan forming slowly in your head. “He thinks he’s protected as long as they don’t recognize him. It probably wouldn’t be the best idea for a bounty hunter to go onto a New Republic base with guns blazing.”

Mando grunts. “You say that like I won’t.” Your fists clench at your sides as you hold back an embarrassing sound from escaping your throat. Not fair. He can’t just say extremely hot things like that to you and expect to get away with it.

The child is still sound asleep in his pram, oblivious to the world. Placing your hand on Mando’s pauldron, you ask, “Can you close the shields on the crib?” He’s looking at you again, hesitating. “Why.” It sounds more like a statement and not a question, the way he says it. 

You lick your lips, “I have an idea.” You hold your hands up before he can say no, and go on. “Just trust me. I’m going to create a distraction. In about five minutes, send the pram up to those guys, and then when the timing’s right, do whatever it is you need to do.”

You pat his shoulder, then take off into the trees before your nerves can get the better of you. The jungle floor is full of gnarled roots, ripe with opportunities for you to face-plant and give your location away. Luckily, you’ve never had a problem with clumsiness (just awkwardness), and you practically fly, letting your instincts take over. There’s a good feeling in your gut.

This is going to work. 

Reaching the opposite end of the clearing in record time, you take your position and watch as the ovular shield floats up to the pilots, your plan already in motion. You’re closer to the X-wings from this angle, and hidden from your target as you quietly tread up to the ships.

The lid of the pram whooshes open, and once their attention is sufficiently diverted, you climb, silent as a whisper bird, into the cockpit. You can see the baby, making grabby hands in your direction as you start up the ship and quickly taxi away. The pilots whip around, barking in protest, startled by the roar of the X-wings ignition. They’re helpless to stop you as you find the hatch switch and close it, preparing for take-off. 

Fortunately, this isn’t your first rodeo. Unmanned X-wings were fair game in your adolescence, and you learned to fly on ships not so different from this one on steaming, humid nights. The controls are familiar under your fingers as you lift off into the sky, and you watch from the air when Mando takes them by surprise.

Your stomach does a flip, seeing him at work. A fond smile crosses your lips, but then you jump when the comm of the ship beeps at you. Your hands are shaking when you press the button to open the link, and a very stern voice tells you, “Gold-9, you are not cleared for flight. What's going on up there?” This was not part of the plan.

Panicking, you answer quickly, “Uh, everything’s under control. Situation normal.” The X-Wing traffic controller asks, “What happened?”

Scrambling, you stutter, “J-Just a routine flight check, there was a slight weapons system malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. It’s fine. It’s all fine now, thank you. How are you?”

There’s a long pause, as if whoever’s on the other end of the line can’t possibly think of what to say next. You can safely say that you are right there with them.

You’re circling the temple, mentally mapping the jungle and planning an escape route to the Razor Crest if that’s what it’s about to come to.

Finally, they say, “We’re sending someone up there.”

 _No, no, no._ “Uh... negative, negative. There’s a fuel leak now. Give me a few minutes to land. Large leak, very dangerous.” 

“Who is this? You’re not Gold-9, what’s your call sign?” You’re floundering, wondering how this got of hand so quickly. “Uh-” you whip out your blaster and fire at the comm panel impulsively.

“Boring conversation anyway,” you mutter to yourself, then fish out your own comm to tell Mando, “Hey boss, we need to high tail it out of here. We’re about to have company.”

All you hear from the other end is a grunt and the sounds of blaster fire, which you take to be a good sign. “I’ll get rid of 'em, just get back to the ship,” you say distractedly, closing the link and watching two X-wings start up and get ready for take off in the field below you. 

“Kriff,” you mutter, drawing them away from Mando and taking off in a direction that you’re praying to the Maker won’t lead them to the Crest. They give chase, zooming after you as you soar high over the trees. Hijacking an X-Wing isn’t what you thought you were going to be doing today, but it’s still better than being cooped up in the ship. At least this way you’re helping.

You head into a spiral, avoiding heavy blaster fire. Cursing, you take evasive maneuvers, zig-zagging to disorient their targeting systems. 

How do you always end up here?

One of them manages to pull up next to your ship and get a good look at you. Your eyes widen when they motion for you to stop, and nearly ram into your side. 

You kill the accelerator and watch them fly ahead, diving down into the cover provided by the trees.

In the jungle, the trees and foliage are so closely clustered together that it's all you can do to avoid a collision at every turn. Eventually you get the hang of the twists, and you're heading away from the Razor Crest, trying to buy Mando a little time to reach the ship. The New Republic X-Wings are circling above you, unwilling to risk crashing in the tricky terrain. Clearly, they're not feeling very foolhardy.

Flying is the easiest thing in the world to you. In moments like these, it’s easier than breathing. When you're in a cockpit, something takes you over, and you hardly need to think. Your pursuers try hanging back, shooting into the greenery to draw you out. Weaving through the trees, you can feel a sort of magic creeping into your bones, settling over your skin. You fake left, then cut a hard right into the trees, the X-wings falling behind.

You burst out of the jungle, soaring into the sky with a triumphant roar.

The pilots are well behind, and if Mando hasn't gotten to the ship by now, he never will. Time’s up.

You activate the comm as you fly to the Crest, clutching it tightly, as if that'll make him get to the ship faster. “Mando, Mando can you hear me? Come in Mando. Are you back on the ship yet?”

There’s a long pause, too long, and panic seizes your heart before there’s a burst of static from the other end of the line.

“I-I made it,” he gasps, and he sounds like he can barely get the words out. Alarm shoots through your veins, but you can't afford to dwell on it too long. He’s not dead, and the Republic pilots are gaining on you. You need to think of something quick if you’re gonna make it out of here in one piece.

Stifling your panic, you say, “Okay, okay, Mando. I need you to get the ship in the air and open the bay door. That’s all I need you to do. Can you do that for me?” You’re trying your hardest to sound calm but it's so hard when you’re not 100% sure if this is gonna work.

Another long pause before he grunts an affirmative into the comm, and the line goes dead. You exhale loudly, going over your half-baked plan. If you fail, someone's going to have a tough time scraping you off the jungle floor.

The Razor Crest is rising above the treetops, and you can feel your heart racing as you get closer and closer. The X-Wings fire, trying to take you out, but their aim is still off from a distance.

Moment of truth. You aim your ship under the Crest and relax, slipping your eyes shut and gathering all your courage. 

The moment you hit the eject button, you know you fucked up.

The canopy frame pops off, and you’re airborne, panicking as the feeling of weightlessness swoops in your stomach. The open bay door is so close; your fingertips barely graze it. 

Devastatingly, you can feel yourself losing momentum for a millisecond, before that peaceful feeling comes back, overwhelming you with its intensity. You concentrate on it as blaster fire zips past you, dinging against the metal of the ship.

In your gut, something is stirring. Magic, or indigestion, you think hysterically, as your hand reaches the edge of the platform, and you have a handhold. The X-Wing you ejected from crashes in a fiery explosion, and you can feel the heat on your front.

You’re not out of the woods yet, but you're also not falling to your death, which is extremely excellent. Two seconds ago, it’s more than you could have hoped for. Using all your strength, you hang on as tight as you can, and manage to grab onto the ledge with your other hand.

You’re still gripping the ship tightly, but you don’t quite have the arm strength to lift yourself into the hull. Tears are stinging your eyes, and you swear to the Maker that if you survive this, you will do pull-ups everyday for the rest of your life.

“Mando!” you scream hysterically, watching the X-wings get closer and their aim increasingly accurate. Your fingers are slipping, and you're really crying now. Is this it? Is this really the end?

“Mando, please!” you shout again, slowly losing your grip on the ledge as fat teardrops roll down your cheeks. 

You’re not ready to die. There’s so much you haven’t said, so much you want to tell him. How you dream about him, how he’s all you think about. How happy your little family has made you, filled a void inside that you had never noticed before. 

You scream, not ready to give up, using all the strength you have left to lift yourself. It's too much. Almost ready to give it up as a lost cause, you're surprised when you feel the strain leave your body, practically floating onto the ledge. You scramble into the hull, and sob in relief when your feet touch the blessedly cool durasteel floor. Glancing up, you’re startled by the sight of the child, three-fingered hands lifted in your direction. 

You watch him lower his arms and plop onto his butt, blinking sleepily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii I hope you guys got my reference to the Han Solo stormtrooper scene in A New Hope (It’s the part where reader is talking to X-Wing traffic control). I learned a lot about how planes work writing this chapter! I had so much fun writing it, but it got really long so I’m splitting it into two parts. I hope you guys enjoy and that that scene with the ejection wasn't too crazy. The Force works in mysterious ways lol. Please let me know what you think!


	4. Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your time to shine.
> 
> Content warning: Potential spoilers surrounding the child's backstory if you're not completely caught up with the second season,  
> plus some wound care and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

As much as you’d love to, you don’t have time to address that right now.

Getting to your feet, you run to scoop him up and shut the bay door as quickly as you can. “Mando!” you yell while it’s closing. “Turn the shields on!” After a beat, you hear a hum surrounding the ship as he obeys. 

The baby’s fast asleep, and you rush over to place him in his hammock before you’re scrambling to the cockpit.

Your arms are screaming, but you climb the ladder in record time, starting when the door whooshes open and you can see Mando slumped in the pilot’s seat, a dark trail of blood in his wake and dripping onto the wires still arranged messily on the floor.

You run up to him, terror seizing you. “No, no, no. Mando, Mando are you okay?” He’s not responding, head lolling to one side. There’s a dark stain on his shoulder near his neck, spreading over the cloth covering his chest.

You don't have time to check the wound. You don't even have time to see if he’s still alive. You step around him, needing to access the ship’s controls.

Sitting as gingerly as you can on the edge of his knee, you take the ship higher into the atmosphere and slam on the hyperdrive way too soon. There’s no choice; you have to leave now, and your friends in the X-wings can't follow you.

You’re jolted back into his lap, leaving Yavin-4, his groan of pain echoing in your ear as arms secure themselves snugly around your waist. 

You barely have time to register that he’s not dead before the stars are streaking past you, and warning signals are flashing across the console. Mando buries his helmet into your neck and you can hear his heavy breathing. If you weren't so positive you were all about to be sent back to the Maker, you'd be blushing.

You try to take the ship out of hyperdrive, but it’s not working, and you're doing all you can to keep everything from falling apart, rapidly flipping switches and going through emergency protocols.

The stupid tears are back, blurring your vision. “Mando, nothing’s working, what do I do, what do I do, I don’t know what to do,” you cry, trying to keep from openly sobbing. He groans again, barely there. 

You need to calm down. It’s the only option. No one can do this but you, and you need to save Mando and the child. You need to save your family. Giving yourself a second, you inhale a watery breath. The alarms are still screaming up at you, but you’re reaching deep inside, searching for the feeling that saved you in the hull. A deep clarity washes over you, and you know what to do.

The exposed wires are still hanging from under the console. You calmly reach down, and yank the blue one. The ship is suddenly still, suspended in space, and the alarms stop.

You did it.

Practically collapsing in relief, you fall back into Mando’s chest. “Nice work,” he grinds out, and you laugh exhaustedly, before you come to your senses and remember all the blood.

Gasping, you scramble off him, asking in a rush, “Kriff, are you okay? What happened to you?”

He chuckles, and you can tell that even that small action hurts. “The quarry-took me by surprise. Vibroblade to the shoulder. We were halfway to the ship… had to drag him the rest of the way... Next time-cuff him behind his back.” 

While he’s talking, you remove his bandolier and gingerly peel back the fabric stuck to his shoulder blade. You can tell he’s being as quiet as humanly possible now, trying to steady his breathing.

From what you can see, the bleeding's stopped. The cut is relatively deep, but thank the Maker that he didn’t hit anything important, or else he probably wouldn’t even be awake right now. You don’t know if you could do this alone.

Exhaling shakily, you blow hair out of your face. “You lost a lot of blood,” you tell him, more to remind yourself that this is real. “Good observation,” he says, and he sounds weaker by the second. 

You look up into his visor, worry darting over your features. Humor doesn’t exactly seem like a good sign coming from him, especially now.

“I’m gonna go get some bacta,” you mutter. “Don’t, uh, go anywhere.” You’re trying to match his nonchalance, but you have the feeling it’s not really going over. He huffs, “Wouldn’t... dream of it.”

Standing on wobbly feet, you leave to find emergency bacta in the storage, along with a medical kit. There’s pressure building behind your sternum, but you push the feeling to the side. You’ve cried enough for one day, and Mando needs you right now.

You rip open the package of sterilizing wipes with shaking hands as you approach, avoiding negative thoughts surrounding Mando’s mortality. He’s going to be okay, he has to be. You’re going to make sure of it.

His head is lolling again, and your eyes widen. “Mando,” you say, shaking his non-injured side delicately. He straightens, groaning. You gently lower yourself to sit sideways in his lap, trying to avoid touching anywhere sensitive. “Don’t fall asleep on me. We can sleep when you’re taken care of.”

You say it half in fear that if he falls asleep now, he won’t ever wake up again. He nods, and you push the fabric away, dabbing at the wound and getting dirt and cloth fibers out. The bleeding slowly starts up again as his entire body draws in, and you shush him softly. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.” His arm snakes around your waist again, and he’s gripping you tightly to his chest, giving you barely enough room to work. His labored breathing is back, and you can feel him shaking violently against you. You shiver, wondering if he can feel how fast your heartbeat is.

Once the cut is clean, you find the cauterizer and send out a quick prayer to anyone who might be listening. This is going to be the hardest part. Thankfully, the gash is deeper than it is long, and you whisper that it’ll be over soon against the side of his helmet. His body spasms in pain when you start, and your heart sinks down into your stomach. “It’s almost over, it’s almost over,” you say, trying to comfort yourself as much as him. 

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally done. You apply the bacta-patch and cut away the frayed and bloody cloth around his neck with the emergency shears you found in the med kit. There’s a roll of bandages in there too, and you wrap it around his shoulder for good measure. All you can hope for at this point is that everything you did was enough to keep him alive. 

After a while, his grip on you has loosened, and he’s breathing easier now. You sigh in relief. The bacta’s working.

You pat his arm and try to get up, but he won’t let you. His other arm slowly comes up to fully trap you, and you find your hands sliding up to loop around his neck, avoiding his injury. He pulls you closer to the solid mass of his body, and warmth is blooming in your chest, spreading to every tiny point of contact. You realize with a jolt that you’re still wearing his cape, the heavy fabric draped over you like a blanket.

It’s quiet for a while, and you find peace in the familiarity of silence. You can smell sweat and blood and jungle air on him, and for a moment, you just absorb everything that happened in the past few hours.

“We almost died,” you tell him, as if he didn’t already know.

“Occupational hazard. Welcome aboard the Razor Crest.” 

You laugh a little, surprising yourself. He’s not gonna like it when you tell him what happened while he was getting stabbed. At least your hands aren’t shaking anymore. 

“Good flying back there,” he says, and he sounds so tired. You pull back to look into his blank visor. You place your hand on his helmet, like you’re cupping his face or something equally cheesy, and the urge to take it off and run your fingers through his hair (dark, wavy hair, you’re imagining) is so powerful that you almost do it. You almost disregard his Creed just because you want to be the first person to look him in the eyes since he was a teenager. In this moment, you’d do just about anything for him to trust you enough to give you a glimpse of his chin.

You just close your eyes and press your forehead against the cool metal. His life force is beating on steadily, and you’re so happy he’s alive, vital and whole under your hands. It used to be so easy to forget he’s not a droid under all that beskar; that he’s a living, breathing man. It’s still nice to have a reminder sometimes. You tuck your chin into the crook of his uninjured shoulder, rubbing small circles into his back absentmindedly. You’re suddenly so aware of your exhaustion that it slams into you like a herd of banthas. 

Eyes drooping shut, you barely register it when Mando mutters something over your shoulder. “Hm?” you murmur, but it’s too late. Sleep is falling over you like a heavy curtain, and you’re long gone before you know it.

__

When you wake, the first thing you notice is the absence of dreams. It’s staggering, after a month of visions bordering on nightmares. It’s the best you’ve slept in a while, which is funny, because the second thing you realize is that you’re fully draped over Mando’s armor-clad body, which should not be nearly as comfortable as it is.

You stiffen, and watch the lights of hyperspace dance across the cockpit floor. Mando’s breathing steadily under you, and a rush of affection surges through you when you see he’s still asleep. He must’ve been beyond exhausted after everything that happened on Yavin-4. It occurs to you that he should probably drink some water, eyeing the trail of dried blood. The bacta probably did its job well enough to keep him hydrated for now, but a patch can only help so much. He’s probably going to feel like an angry Gamorrean’s punching bag when he wakes up.

You slowly extricate yourself from him, insides fluttering when he softly groans in protest. In the fleeting starlight you can see him better, and your breath catches at the sight of the skin surrounding your poorly wrapped bandages. You don’t remember when you took off his shoulder armor, but the tender flesh around his neck and upper arm is exposed, and you feel guilty for seeing it without his permission. It’s not like you’re not allowed to; he’s never mentioned anything in the Way that implies bare shoulders are off-limits.

Regardless, you unpin his cape and drape it over his exposed skin, turning your attention to the nav screen. He punched in the coordinates to the next planet before he drifted off. You shake your head, chuckling quietly. Of course he did. Even on the brink of death, the man's efficient.

You tread softly on your way out of the cockpit and to the ladder, wanting to make sure he gets as much sleep as he can. You have a feeling he doesn't usually get much under normal circumstances anyway.

Now there’s the matter of the child. You descend the ladder, then cross the hull to Mando’s sleep compartment, pressing the button to open the hatch. The baby’s already gazing up at you with huge black eyes when the doors part.

Scooping him from his hammock, you scooch inside and sit cross-legged, cradling him in your arms.

Before today, and what you saw with the bay door, it hadn't occurred to you that other people could do the same unexplainable things that you've started to do in the past months. 

You’ve always had a connection with the kid, that much is true. But now that you're aware of it, it’s stronger, more tangible. 

You look down at him in silent awe. “You’re… like me?” you ask. Something in his life force flickers, and you can tell he’s happy you understand now.

His life force… “The Force? Is that what this is?” He coos, and now you’re more confused than ever. You didn't know much about life outside the jungle moon growing up, but you can remember stories about the mysterious energy that flows through the universe, even if your knowledge is vague and incomplete.

If this is the Force… why haven't you experienced something like this before? Wouldn’t signs have shown themselves earlier, back home?

The baby reaches a clawed hand out, and you give your finger for him to hold. He closes his eyes, and it suddenly feels like your ears are clogged. It's just you and him, and the things he wants to show you. He’s old, much older than you, but you already knew that. You can see flashes of something, but can't tell what you're looking at. A temple?

Screaming, burning, flashing colored lights. Friends and Masters, gone. Someone saving him, but who?

There's shuffling in the cockpit, and you're jolted out of whatever… this is.

Mando.

Getting up, you hold the baby with one arm and go to grab some ration bars, stuffing them into your pockets. You give the child a cup of water to hold, warning him not to spill, then climb back up to where you can hear the sounds of an injured Mandalorian waking up.

He’s cursing softly, ripping the useless bandages off, and you rush over. “Hey, hey, stop that,” you soothe. He looks up at you, and you flush with embarrassment. This is not how you act around each other on a regular basis. When did you get so comfortable?

“Um… I can change the patch for you. You don’t have to do all that. Here,” you lower the kid into the copilot’s seat and take the water from him, handing it to Mando along with a ration bar and turning yourself and the baby away to give him some privacy.

The child coos, and you lower your head to distract him with a clump of your hair. Mando’s quiet, and then you can hear the crinkling of the wrapper as it’s torn off. He finishes eating and drinking so quickly, you barely have time to register how fast your heart is beating at the idea of him trusting you just this little bit.

Silence. “Do you want more?” you ask, and your voice cracks on the last syllable. He must be dying of thirst, but he shakes his head. 

It’s quiet again, and you wonder if you should tell him about your revelation in the hull. Would it change anything? You can vaguely recall something, a conflict between the Mandalorians and Force users. Something like that? The more you try to focus on the story, the more it slips away.

You’re so frustrated you don't even notice that you've dropped out of hyperspace.

Mando gets up painfully slowly, like every inch of movement requires effort, then pauses and looks down at you. You return his gaze and try not to stare at the tan skin surrounding the battered bacta-patch. 

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly, “For taking care of me.” Warmth spreads across your chest before he walks out of the cockpit, leaving you and the kid alone in the dark cradle of space, surrounding by twinkling stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow what a doozy. Another really fun chapter to write, plus now I have a beta reader! I hope you guys enjoy!


	5. Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More confusing dreams, more confusing nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

“You did _what?”_

You don’t expect Mando’s reaction when you tell him what happened with the X-wing. To be fair, he’s the legendary warrior that managed to get himself stabbed by someone in cuffs. You should be the indignant one here.

Regardless, you smile sheepishly over your sabacc cards. Mando needs time to heal after that ordeal, and the quarry can wait. That's what you insisted, anyway, when he tried to leave the ship a day after surviving a wound from a dirty vibroblade. At least it gives you a chance to catch up while the kid’s asleep, or so you thought. You throw down your losing hand and cross your arms across your chest.

You didn't realize he’d be this upset. “You’re the one who wanted me to get used to being on the crew. Plus, I don’t think a little risk taking ever hurt anyone. My head’s still on straight, isn't it?” He tilts his helmet, and you glare. “Don't answer that.”

Snickering, he throws down his own hand, and it’s a winner, just as you expected. He takes the pot, a pile of ration bars and protein packets. 

“I’d wager that you at least shook something loose, pulling a stunt like that,” he says, counting his riches. You huff, turning your head peevishly. This is the third round you've lost. Two-person sabacc’s never any fun, especially when your opponent’s as distracting as he is. His foot brushes against yours under the table, and you sit a little straighter, blushing.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m not mad. Just…” he trails off. Worried, you fill in for him, and you understand, because you feel the exact same way. You just about died of it finding him covered in his own blood in the pilot's seat.

Your chin turns down, and you're reminded again of how he held you to his chest, clutched you tightly while you healed him, let you fall asleep in his arms. He was so cold from blood loss that you were glad he made you stay just to keep him warm.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it for three days.

“This… isn't part of my job description, but I’m happy to do it, boss. For you, and the kid,” you add hastily. “All this crazy kark, I don’t do it because I have a death wish. Same as you with the Way and all that. You’re my crew, so don't worry about it. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.” Picking up his cards where they're sitting, you shuffle them into the deck nervously, not looking at him. You haven't begun a new round yet, but you feel like you just showed him all your cards.

He’s quiet, but you can sense gratitude rolling off him in waves. Your heart feels light, and for once, you're glad you spoke your mind.

“Isn’t it your turn to deal?”

__

Finally, you can't convince him to stay any longer. You’re surprised you managed to keep him as long as you did, but duty calls, and fuel isn't cheap. 

You’re happy to stay on the ship this time. It feels like you've properly redeemed your screw up on Canto Bight, and the both of you have been avoiding the cockpit all this time. It desperately needs a scrub down.

You shiver when you enter, glad you haven't come in here since Yavin. It would've been too much to deal with on top of everything.

While you’re cleaning dried blood off the floor, the kid sits in the pilot's seat and chatters with you, and it’s weird. You have this strange, magical connection, but he’s still just a baby, and you're still just a person. He doesn't try to show you his past again, and you're grateful. Just thinking about it hurts your brain.

The wires are the trickiest part, since you have to pick up where you left off a week ago with nothing to really indicate where you were in your progress. After a few hours, you get them neatly done and organized, tucked away with the panel screwed on tightly. It’s satisfying work, and you sit back, pleased with yourself. The baby reaches for you, and you lift him from his seat, settling him on your hip to go eat dinner. You’re starting to get the hang of the parenting thing.

When it’s time to sleep, you take the chance that Mando’s not going to be returning tonight, and crawl into his compartment, placing the child in his hammock-bed. It smells like him in here, warm and sharp, with an undercurrent of the soap you both use from the fresher. You drowse for a while nested in his blanket, breathing deeply, imaging he’s with you. That he wants you here while he falls asleep. That he wants a little something extra, too.

You shiver, but then you're thinking about the other night again, and how nice it was. Nice is an understatement, but it's the only word that encapsulates how perfect it felt. 

It’s strange how that memory isn't tainted by the fact that he almost died. All you can focus on is what his arms felt like, wrapped around you. 

It’s that feeling you're concentrating on when you finally fall asleep.  
__

It’s so dark, you notice, whenever you’re here. Someone is singing a lullaby, stroking your hair. Tears well up at the familiar voice, and it's like you're a child again, feeble and small.

_Mama._

The singing stops when you think it, the realization passing through you. _Yes, starlight. You’re starting to remember._

You know she’s there, and you can feel her presence, but when you try to focus on it, her shadow grows darker and darker.

Her fingers are still combing through your hair, soothing your vexation at your lack of control. _Memories are dangerous. I did what I had to to keep you safe._

As she says it, you know this conversation isn't a memory. This is something else entirely, something you don't have a name for.

_What did you do?_

She’s quiet. Her hand stills. _I thought you’d be safe, when the war ended. When_ he _was gone. I was wrong._

She leans down to whisper into your hair.

_You need to leave, or else he will find you. You need to leave._

You can feel yourself slipping away, trying to grab onto something, but it’s no use. It feels as if you've been underwater this whole time, and now you're starting to come up for air, way too fast.

 _Wait!_ you shout, but it’s too late, and you're already waking up.

__

You shoot up, gasping, and hit your head on the ceiling of Mando’s compartment.

“Fuck!” you howl, rubbing the tender spot. Only then do you notice that the hatch door is open, and Mando’s standing there awkwardly in the half-light. 

“Uh-” he starts, but you're already scrambling to vacate his sleeping pad, limbs getting tangled in the blanket. “Oh Maker, I’m so sorry- I didn’t-” you flounder, trying, in your sleep addled haze, to figure out a justifiable reason for you to be in his bed.

“Wait, wait, it's okay,” he’s trying to settle your flailing body with his hands, and the feel of his gloves on you nearly does you in. Before you realize what's happening, he's crawling into the too-small compartment with you, nearly knocking the baby out of his hammock. He giggles in delight, and you notice that he’s been watching these proceedings with pointed interest, that much you can tell through your connection. You ignore him.

Mando gets comfy, and you’re extremely awake now. “What are you doing?” you ask in a tone you hope sounds calm. 

“Just settling in for the night,” he says, like it’s totally normal for the two of you to be sharing the same bed. 

You’re quiet as you look at him from your spot on the blanket. His gaze feels defiant somehow, daring you to acknowledge the lines he's crossing by doing this.

Chewing your lip, you lay back down, staring at your warped reflection in his cuirass. You knew he slept in his armor, but seeing it up close is a different thing entirely.

“Aren’t you… uncomfortable? Sleeping in all that?” He shifts, like he was hoping you wouldn't notice. “I always wear my armor. This is the Way.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching up to undo his cape. “What are you doing?” he asks in a husky tone. You look up at him, equally defiant. “Settling in for the night.” 

He must've taken off all of his deadly accoutrements and put them back in the weapons store before he found you curled up in his blanket. The magnetic fasteners on his armor come off in a pinch, and you toss them to the foot of the compartment.

When that's done, you hesitate before scooching closer to the warmth radiating from his body. Here goes nothing. You exhale a tiny little puff of air before you wrap your arms around his midsection and bury your face in his chest.

His heart, you find, is pounding as fast as yours is. It sends a little jolt up your spine. “Take the boots off,” you mumble into the thick fabric, and he chuckles before they’re kicked off, falling onto the floor in front of the compartment with a noisy thud. You're startled by the presence of socked feet. 

For some reason, the armor feels like it’s a part of his body, as if it’s welded onto his limbs. There can’t be anything underneath, because it’s just. Him. 

It’s silly, but you never imagined a Mandalorian wearing socks before.

He sighs, a deep long exhale, and you feel the base of the helmet touch the crown of your head. You don’t bother asking him to take it off for you. Tatooine would probably freeze over before that happened.

Finally, he puts his own arms around you, and you can't think about anything else. Your brain is empty of everything except him, and you could honestly die like this. Nothing has ever felt so right. 

Nothing has ever felt so much like home.

Your throat feels tight, and you almost want to stay awake so you can experience this for as long as possible, so you know this isn't just another cruel dream.

“Doesn't that feel better?” you mumble. “I don't know how you get any sleep with all that beskar weighing you down.” His hand absently strokes your hair, and you practically melt.

“Yes,” he says softly, and he’s so close, his voice is right in your ear, and Maker this is all you've ever wanted. “Thank you, _cyar’ika_.”

There's that word again. You’ve definitely heard it, but you don't remember from where. He’s said it to you before, but the memory is so fuzzy. Fuzzy and warm, and filled with swirling stars. Ah. Canto Bight.

You flush with embarrassment, reminded of your blunder. Pushing the memory aside, you inhale and sink deeper into him. You don’t want to dwell on stupid mistakes right now, not when Mando is giving you something you never even thought to ask for. Plus, he's not half-dead and covered in blood this time. Jackpot.

Your heartbeat is fast, but relaxed and deep, like it’s trapped in molasses. It’s the strangest feeling, but not unpleasant. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

Though you've been avoiding it, sleep is starting to overcome you again, and you sync your breathing with Mando’s, thinking about how glad you are that you didn't die in a fiery X-wing explosion last week.

__

Mando cleans house with the last bounty in record time. He’s extremely efficient when planning travel routes, but even he can't bend space time to get you back to Nevarro fast enough. You miss the arid, volcanic planet.

You can tell Mando hates Nevarro, can’t get out quick enough, but he doesn't mention it to you. He’ll never understand, but it’s a chance for you to stretch your legs without worrying if someone's going to kill him, or try to kill you and take the baby, or something equally anxiety-inducing. At least if someone tries to kill him on Nevarro you’ll know about it, because you’ll probably be dead first.

Sitting in the cockpit with him, you find yourself dozing. It’s happening more and more often lately, enough to be concerning. You try to avoid sleep as much as you can nowadays, since sleep means dreams, and your dreams only serve to frustrate and annoy you. Scare you too, though you'd never admit that to yourself.

You can hardly remember them an hour after you've woken up, but what you do remember doesn’t make you feel any better. Whatever’s going on, whatever the Force is trying to show you (at least, that's what you're assuming this is), it’s not going to make you a better pilot or crew member or shipmate, so you try your best to move on and focus on what’s in front of you.

When you finally land, you’re practically skipping off the Crest, even if Mando made you carry extra “protective equipment.” And by protective equipment, you mean your own utility belt for grav charges and an extra blaster, in case, what? Your own gun jams? You’re suddenly able to dual wield two pistols of wildly different weights and grips?

Dual wielding would be sick, but unfortunately, it’s not a skill you’ve had time to perfect, having been either cooped up on the Razor Crest or chased by hostiles on distant planets. You don’t mention the futility of the extras though. When he secured the belt around your waist to make sure it was snug, you just stared into his visor, letting him know you could’ve done it just fine on your own. 

“I’m a big girl,” you said, waggling your eyebrows. It was the first time you’d felt comfortable flirting with him. He just scoffed and went to get the baby ready, leaving you laughing at your own ridiculousness.

Walking into town, you can’t help but notice how drastically your relationship has changed since those bounty hunters almost ground you into a pulp on that purple planet. He used to be so quiet around you, and he still is, but you get the sense that he feels more comfortable than he did before. More free to be himself.

Karga’s waiting at his usual booth in the cantina, raising a mug of spotchka to you in salute. You smile. You like Karga, even if he is a little shady. He gives Mando steady work, and he forgave his transgressions with the child, and for that you’re thankful. 

You spot Cara and pat Mando’s shoulder, taking the kid with you to where she’s lounging in the corner. “Marshall Dune,” you nod. The child coos, and you sense he’s happy to see her too. You don’t know her that well, but any friendships are welcome when you spend the majority of your time with a green baby and his stoic, intimidatingly hot father.

She nods to you, and smiles down at the child. “So,” you say nonchalantly, “Any… notable Imperial activity lately?” Cara looks back at you, raising an eyebrow, and you wilt a little. You need to get your conversation skills back. 

“Sorry,” you wince. “How’s the Marshall thing going?” She shrugs, taking a swig of her drink. “It’s going. I haven't had to follow anyone’s rules but my own in so long, it’s a little hard to get used to sometimes.” You nod, watching Mando and Karga from the corner of your eye. Karga is taking forever, shooting the shit, as usual. 

“How’s it on the ship with the metallic man?” she grins a little, and you blush. “Oh, you know, avoiding certain death at every turn, broken up by the occasional murderous bounty. Fun stuff.” She hums, and you watch Mando give Karga back the pucks from the past few weeks.

“Avoiding certain death sounds new for you,” she says, and you smile ruefully. “Well, you know how Mando is. I can't see how he ever survived without me.” She raises her eyebrows, and you think you might've said too much. It'd be nice if you could make it through this detour without bringing down Mando’s rep.

“Hm. Maybe he’s just been a little distracted lately,” she eyes you over a sip of her spotchka, and you flush. “It’s not like that,” you mumble.

“Isn't it?” You don't expect such a blunt answer, but Mando's clunking up to the two of you before you can even think to formulate a response. “Got the pucks. Let’s go.” He offers an arm to Cara and she grips his forearm bracingly. He uses his other hand to press possessively against the small of your back and lead you away. You glance back at Cara, who’s sporting a shit-eating grin, as if Mando’s proven her right with that one small gesture.

The baby babbles up at her one more time before floating away in his pram, and you realize how much like a family you must look like right now. Coupled with what Cara said, it makes you stupidly happy.

Your euphoria is interrupted by the sound of your name being bellowed by Karga. “You don't think you can get away that easily?” He wraps you in a hug, and you're surprised by the sudden display of affection. This doesn't really seem like his style.

His arm comes to rest on your shoulder, and you smile a little lop-sidedly, brows knitting together. What is he playing at?

“Is he treating you well? Because if not, you know you can always come work for me. Smaller chance of getting blasted to kingdom come, too.” Right out of the gate with it, then.

You glance at Mando, and he’s stiller than a statue. Feigning interest, you say, “I don’t know, what's the pay like?” He laughs boisterously, pointing a finger at you. “I told you I liked this one, Mando.” He pats your shoulder firmly, and you smile.

“We don't have time for jokes, Karga.” You look up at him, a little guilty. Mando’s not normally this short with him.

You shrug Karga off your shoulder and say consolingly, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got my hands full with the little one.” As if on cue, the kid coos up at him, effectively providing a distraction. He turns his full attention to your tiny companion, and you look back at Mando.

You rest your hand on his upper arm, and he tenses. “Easy, boss. What’s gotten into you?” you ask softly. 

“Let's just get back to the ship,” he grumbles, and you remove your hand reluctantly.

“Thanks again, Karga,” you say over your shoulder, leading Mando and the baby out of the cantina. 

“Don’t stay away too long!” he shouts after you, and you chuckle.

You try to make small talk on the way back to the Razor Crest, but it's no good. It feels like all the progress you made with him over the past few weeks just got obliterated, but what you can’t figure out is why.

You set the kid down to nap after all the excitement before you join Mando in the cockpit, coordinates already punched in and ready to go.

When you’re in hyperspace, you finally ask, “So… do you wanna talk about it?”

He seems extremely uncomfortable. You can feel it radiating off him like stink on a womp rat. 

“Moff Gideon put a bounty on you.” This is maybe the most unexpected news yet. It's so awkwardly silent that you laugh nervously, trying to wave it off. “Well, he must have a bounty on you too, right? And the kid? It makes sense that he finally got around to me, I’m on your crew after all.” 

He’s quiet, and then a deep sigh comes from inside of his helmet. The skin on your forearms feel itchy. You have a bad feeling about this. 

“The bounty… is pre-Empire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I want to delete everything else I’ve written because this story is so good in comparison. I know the timeline is starting to get a little wonky from what it is in season 2, but in my mind this makes more sense if Mando’s still receiving bounties and such. This way I can flesh out the story the way I want to, so please just bear with me! Also, I do not stan Gina Carano whatsoever bc of her transphobic bs but I did like Cara before all of that came out so I’m trying as hard as I can to separate character from actor.


	6. Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of the past can lead to a glimpse of the future.
> 
> Content Warning: Reader has a small panic attack at the beginning and then she stops trying to sleep. Because of this, she starts to be a little neglectful of the child. Also, drowning tw but not actually it's just a dream and it's not described in depth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

“What-What does that even mean?” It comes out harsh, the words biting. Mando still won’t face you.

The hum of the engines fills in the gap in your conversation, and your mind is reeling. _Pre-Empire?_ You would’ve been, what, a child? A toddler, even?

It’s in that moment that you become aware of the fact that you don’t even know how old you are. 

This is too much. Mando just brought your whole world crashing down in one sentence, and you’re not really sure what to do about it. He’s placed his gloved hand on your shoulder, and it feels like burning fire. You squirm out of his grasp, putting your head in your hands. Trying not to have a full-blown panic attack in front of him. You take a few deep breaths, methodically filling your lungs until your breathing is semi-normal. 

“Pre-Empire. _Pre-Empire?_ ” Mando says your name softly as you mumble the words over and over again, trying to understand them. There’s something there, some sort of significance that you just can’t grasp, and it’s literally driving you insane. 

“How does that make any sense?” you ask, and there are tears in your voice. You want to shake him, beg him for answers, but you know it’s not his fault. It’s hers. The woman from your dreams. _Mama._

The itchiness on your face and hands begins to recede. Suddenly your body is wracked with sobs, and you don’t know how this happened. It feels like it just came out of nowhere. You and Mando were speaking like adults, and now you’re a child, falling apart in front of him. Afraid and confused. 

Weak.

He gets up, and asks quietly, “Can I touch you?” You nod, tears streaming down your face. He picks you up from the co-pilot's seat effortlessly, like you’re nothing more than a sack of ebla grain, while you wrap your arms around his neck. He supports you with one arm secured under your bottom as he descends the ladder, and the small, rational part of you that’s still operating thinks, _Oh, that’s how he does it._

He carries you into his sleep compartment, sliding you in and covering you with the blanket before he’s taking his armor off. You hiccup as you watch him, only half-aware of what’s going on, lost in a swirl of thoughts that don’t make any sense to you.

When his boots are off, he crawls in, and doesn’t knock the baby around this time. Your distress must have woken him, because he’s cooing at you with sleepy concern. Your reach your hands out, and Mando retrieves him, settling in with you, the baby tucked into your arms.

After a while, your sniffles recede, and you’re so, so tired, but more than anything, you don’t want to fall asleep. Your tears are replaced with acute shame. The child makes a noise at you, and you can sense his worry. You stroke a furry ear, and whisper, “I’m sorry.” He gurgles, and Mando shifts on top of the blanket.

“What… happened?” he asks, and you can tell he’s out of his depth. You sigh shakily, guilt overwhelming you at all the things you’ve been keeping things from him. How do you even explain the dreams, the strange things you can do and see and feel? The pseudo-memories that don't even make sense to you, much less a very capable but admittedly sort of ignorant Mandalorian?

“What did Karga tell you?” You decide to start there. It’s as good a place as any. His hand is on your upper arm, and he’s rubbing his thumb back and forth on the skin there. It’s so mindless, so unintentionally soothing, that you shiver.

“The first time I brought you to Nevarro, Karga couldn’t find anything on you. It was like you didn’t exist.” He seems uncomfortable again, but like he’s trying to push through it for your sake. “Last time we left, Cara ran another check.”

He clears his throat, and the kid tugs on a strand of your hair. You give it to him to play with as Mando goes on. “They did some digging, and found the bounty. Nothing else, except that it became inactive years ago.” He pauses. “And it’s active again, now. He knows you’re on the Razor Crest. With me.”

_You need to leave, or else he will find you. You need to leave._

Something clicks in your brain, and you remember that lavender sky again, your first real life-or-death altercation. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It hadn’t occurred to you then, but why would they choose to go after the Razor Crest when Mando was out in the open, ripe for the taking? 

“Those bounty hunters a while back…” He nods. “They weren't after your bounty. They were after me.”

He's silent, but you know you're right.

You fiddle with the edge of the weird sleeve on his upper arm. Your lips are salty when you lick them, and it’s quiet again while the baby sucks on your hair.

“Is there… something you’re not telling me?” he says, and you can’t look at him.

The kid glances up at you, and you’re trying so hard not to cry again. Now, more than ever, you need the closeness that's been growing steadily between you. It feels like you were finally getting everything you wanted, and now it’s slipping from your fingertips. If you tell Mando about your abilities, will it ruin everything? You ache at the idea, but you know you need to be honest with him. You owe him that much.

“I… The X-wing. I should’ve died. I almost didn’t make it.” The kid is paying very close attention now, and you smooth the wrinkles in his forehead. “Something happened. Something I can’t really explain, it was like… magic.” He lets go of your hair, and reaches toward you. You let his tiny clawed hand land on your face with a sigh.

“Suddenly, I wasn’t falling. But I still couldn’t get onto the ship.” You laugh a little. “Weak arms, I guess. And then, just when I’m convinced I’m about to go on a skydiving trip without a parachute, it’s like I don’t weigh a thing, and I’m being hauled onto the ship by what looks to me is just empty air, and then…”

The child grins a toothless smile, and you smile back. 

“He saved you.”

Your gaze snaps to Mando. “How did you- How’d you know that?” He tilts his head. “His powers. He saved you.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s so obvious, that you gape at him. “You know about his powers?”

Mando’s shoulders shake a little, and you can hear tiny exhales being filtered through the helmet’s modulator. “Don’t act so surprised, _cyar’ika_. He’s my foundling.”

There’s that word again. One of these days you’re going to ask him what it means.

He lowers his helmet until it’s bumping against your forehead, and you inhale deeply, happy to be in his bed, even if it’s not how you might’ve envisioned it a few months ago. In that fantasy, the baby was asleep or otherwise occupied, and there were a lot less clothes. You’re starting to get distracted when he speaks again.

“You said you felt something before that. Magic. I take it that wasn’t the kid that time,” he says softly. You were hoping to avoid this, but it sort of seems like a non-issue now that you know he was always aware of the child’s eccentricities. 

You huff, and give the little booger your finger while he gurgles at you some more. Abruptly, you see yourself from his perspective on Yavin-4, crawling onto the platform, relief etched into your face. It startles you a little. He hasn’t done that in a while.

You pretend nothing just happened. “Yeah, I mean. I think I have it. Powers. Magic. Whatever it’s called.” _The Force_ a voice in your head whispers, but you refuse to acknowledge it out loud again. You’ve already given it too much power over you in sleep. Best to avoid it in the waking hours, too.

You want to tell him about your dreams, but you can’t. It feels like if you talk about them, they’ll be real. Or worse, they won’t, and you’ll just be a crazy person who can’t remember what they were doing this time last year, or the year before that.

Mando’s quiet for a long while. Your eyelids start to droop closed, but you shake yourself out of it, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid of more dreams.

His thumb is still brushing against your arm, and if you wish hard enough, this is more than the gesture of a friend trying to bring you comfort after you essentially broke down in front of them over nothing.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me,” he says quietly, and it’s so ridiculously gentle coming from him that you have to stop yourself from laughing. Of course, he’s forgiven. He could throw you off the ship feet first and you’d forgive him. You look up into his visor and smile, hoping he understands without you having to use so many words.

Now you're wondering if you're being selfish, putting Mando and the baby in danger by staying on the Razor Crest when Mama so clearly told you to leave.

That's the problem, isn't it? She said to leave, but isn't the safest place here, in the arms of a Mandalorian? Couldn’t he protect you from Moff Gideon and the remnants of the Imperials?

Part of you wants to say yes, but there's that feeling in your gut again. Something bad happened to Mama. You just know it. There's a reason you’ve only met in dreams. Whatever she did to you, it only makes sense that she did it because you were too precious for her to give up unless she saw no other option. 

Unless it was a last resort.

So… what then? Just… leave? Uprooting the life you've made here is the last thing you want. There has to be some other solution. You can’t just leave the child.

You can't leave Mando.

As much as you hate to admit it, your infatuation with him has matured over the last month, grown into some monster that you have no control over anymore. Sure, your body’s reactions to his proximity are an endless source of embarrassment, but otherwise, you're so comfortable with him, so at ease. You worry about him on hunts, but his return is always the best part, it's what you look forward to the most on dreary days stuck on the ship. 

Even the little guy makes your life better, him being someone who also has to deal with the mysterious power you've been cursed with. Someone you can take care of, someone you can wait up for Mando with. He’s your baby, and you're his mama. There's a steady dynamic on the ship, something really special, and you’re not ready for it to end.

You are selfish.

You're staying on the Razor Crest.  
__

Mando’s gone over a week on the next hunt. Hunkered down on some damp ocean planet, you wrestle internally over your decision to stay. You can't stop obsessing over the idea of someone coming and taking you and the baby, since you really have nothing better to do.

Comm-links are basically useless here (something about the rain on this planet interrupts the signal, wonderful), the child still can’t talk or mount any sort of defense (but he can transmit very distressing mental images of burning temples into your mind, amazing), and all you have to do for entertainment is reorganize the weapons store (chock full of deadly instruments you don't know how to use and probably shouldn't be touching, lest you accidentally vaporize yourself).

Basically, you're dying of boredom while contemplating an intense moral quandary that you would rather not think about.

In addition to this, the dreams keep coming, full force. They're getting worse, driving you insane with incomplete hints about your past.

Whatever’s going on, it has something to do with the ocean outside the viewport.

On the third day, it stops raining, and the sea is smooth as glass. The small island you’re perched on isn't being tossed around for once. When you look out at the water, a wave of vertigo washes over you, nearly toppling you from where you stand.

Every night from then on, lying in Mando’s bed, the ocean infiltrates your dreams, taunting you with its secrets. You drown a hundred times, open your mouth and let the rain in, do all sorts of crazy bantha shit that makes absolutely no sense to you. At some point, you decide to stop sleeping.

You’re dead on your feet in the fresher, desperately trying not to slump under the spray and give in to unconsciousness. The water is like ice on your scalp, but you leave it that way, even if it's only making you shiver and not keeping your eyes open like intended. Mama’s visage is swirling in front of you, a deeply frightening mirage considering the fact that you still can't make out half of her features.

The memory of her face is slowly returning to you, but you almost wish it wouldn't. You wish you could go back to when you didn't remember anything at all, just to have some peace.

You snap your eyes open when you realize you can hear the baby crying over the steady beat of water splashing onto the floor. You shut off the stream, throwing a shirt and some underwear on, not even wringing your hair.

You’re still shivering when you pick him up, and when he only wails louder, you think with agitation that you probably should've toweled off or something. Exhausted, you wrap Mando’s blanket around your shoulders before cradling the baby, hushing him and asking what's wrong in a tearful whisper.

He transmits something other than a memory or emotion. It’s along the lines of _hungry,_ but you're too tired to react, or do anything besides shuffle to the compartment where you keep provisions and stuff a packet of protein broth into his teeny little hands.

He tears into it, slurping greedily, and a delayed pang of guilt goes through your body. When was the last time you fed him? What’s happening to you?

You lay back in Mando’s compartment with the baby in your arms, eyes finally slipping shut as you give in to your worst dream yet.

__

_If you put one mark on her, there is no place you'll be able to hide from me._

You can see Mando through bleary eyes, his hands held out in an almost placating gesture.

 _That’s cute, that you think you have some control over this situation._ Short cropped hair. A sweeping, dark cape. 

Moff Gideon.

You don't know how you know, you've never seen him before, but you're as sure it's him as you're sure that Karga is a terrible liar, and a cheat at sabacc to boot.

You struggle against invisible restraints, powerless to do anything but watch over the hazy scene. You realize the Moff is standing over a slumped body, cuffed and passed out on a bench. 

You start. It's _you._

_I’ll make you a deal. I’ll call off Bo Katan and her crew, if you let me take her. I don’t care about your laser sword. I just want the girl._

After a beat, Gideon inclines his head. The blade on his sword, which you’ve only just noticed, retracts. It’s a strange saber, and you’ve never seen anything like it before.

_Take her. But-you will leave my ship immediately, and we will go our separate ways._

Mando nods, and they slowly inch around each other until his back is turned away from him, facing your prone form. Your face prickles in panic. Something’s not right. 

Just as Mando’s reaching for you, to lift you up and carry you away from whatever nightmare you’re stuck in, Moff Gideon’s saber is reignited, and he brings it down on Mando’s back with a broad slice.

 _No!_ you scream, but you’re already waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowowow yeah so reader is spiraling lol I hope this chapter was okay. I never expect this story to go in the directions it does but I’m usually happy with it in the end. I always kind of feel weird when I quote lines from the show as if I’m plagiarizing or something but then I try to think of them more as Easter Eggs or fun references. Anyways, yeah the tension is mounting I hope y'all are on the edge of your seats because I sure am!


	7. Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. Didn't you know we would always end up here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

When Mando’s been gone so long that you begin to contemplate going out into the downpour to look for him, he finds his way back to the ship. You’ve given up on fighting sleep, and you're tangled in the blanket when he shakes your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m back. We’re leaving.” You blink up at him groggily, and he pauses. “What happened to you?”

You notice that he's dripping wet, glistening in the light of the hull. Something about the sight of him like this makes him look vulnerable, even if he still has all the armor on. You reach up and tug him closer by his utility belt, put his pulse rifle on the floor, peel off his bandolier, go through the motions of getting him ready for bed.

“Woah, woah, wait,” he rests his hands over yours, and his gloves are damp. “I need to get us into hyperspace-” 

You’re still warm with sleep, and the memories of your latest dream are niggling in the back of your brain. You just want him to hold you right now. More than that, you need to feel his skin on yours.

Turning your palm over, you grab onto his glove, revealing his hand underneath. Mando’s breath catches, but he doesn’t miss a beat, reaching to cup your cheek. The gesture is filled with infinite tenderness, and you ache.

“You were gone a long while,” you mutter, turning your mouth into his palm.

“I know,” he says, and it sounds strained.

He brings his fingers to your chin and tilts it so you’re looking up at him. Your heart is doing that thing, a deep and steady throb in your chest as you stare into the visor. This is the first skin-to-skin contact either of you have had in who knows how long, and it feels so _right_.

Maker, you were genuinely going crazy here without him.

You put your hand on his this time, lifting it and lacing your fingers together, pulling him into the compartment. He stumbles a little, but then he’s falling in with you, and you can’t find it in yourself to care that he’s still soaking wet and covered in cold beskar. The familiar thump of his boots as they come off accompanies him.

Plucking the other glove off, you burrow into him with a sigh. You readjust so your hands are trapped between your bodies, and those are cold, too. He laughs quietly at your eagerness, and you think about how much you love the sound, how you revel in it. It’s everything to you, making him laugh, even if it’s just a little. 

“This is becoming a habit,” he murmurs.

The front of your shirt is getting wet, and you shiver when it sticks to you. You want him to take it off you, you want to get him out of his own wet clothes, you want-

“Are you alright?” he asks. All of this fervent touching is very out of character for you. Usually you at least pretend to be reserved.

“I just-” _have to leave,_ you think, and you frown. Because that’s it, isn’t it? Despite your internal battle, you’ve known since that dream with Moff Gideon and the sword that you have to leave, go somewhere Mando won’t find you, or else it'll come true. You’re not sure where that is just yet, but you’ll hash out the details later. Maybe if you leave you’ll find some answers about your past, and he won't have to worry about you anymore, on top of the child. 

“You were gone a long while,” you whisper finally.

His naked hand cups your cheek again, and you remember seeing a sliver of wrist peeking out between his glove and vambrace ages ago, thinking how blessed you were to see such a thing in your lifetime. You feel blessed now, to feel his cool skin on yours, to know his touch.

There’s a lump in your throat, but you force it down. If you’re going to do this, you need to be strong.

“I-um. I can put in the coordinates. For the next bounty, I mean. Give you a chance to fix yourself up, catch up with the kid.” You try to grin cheekily at him, but it just feels tired. The pad of his thumb slowly brushes over your cheekbone, and it's agonizing. If you could stay like this forever, you wouldn’t want for anything else, you wouldn’t even ask.

He’s quiet, and for a moment, you imagine he can read your mind. That he can see what you’re planning with his penetrating stare, and he'll stop you from making what you're afraid is the biggest mistake of your life. 

He just nods.

Disappointed, you peel yourself off of him, blushing when you realize you still aren’t wearing pants. Oh well. Get a good view now, Mando. While you still can.

In the reflection of the transparisteel in the cockpit, you can see now why he asked what happened to you after he woke you up. The pockets under your eyes have deepened, and your hair is a womp rat’s nest. If he still wants to sleep next to you when you look like this, he might be even crazier than you are.

Your heart sinks when you feel plans already forming in your head. At times like these, you hate your tactical mind. You can hear the fresher running below you, and you touch your cheek, memorizing the rough texture of Mando’s hand on your face. You’ll carry this feeling to your grave, if that's where this path is leading you.

An angry tear rolls down your cheek as you finally take the ship into atmo, gunning it away from the roaring ocean.  
__

Travel time to the next planet is longer than usual, and you suppose you're happy. It gives you more time to spend with Mando and the child, more time to slack off and talk about nothing. 

More time to say goodbye.

You don't want it to feel like a goodbye. Though you can tell Mando’s been treating you more delicately since your breakdown, everything seems back to the way it was before that last trip to Nevarro. Good. If he sensed anything amiss, it might ruin your chance to escape. It's not meant to be an escape, but that's what it feels like. He’s the most prolific member of the Guild. If you're going to have a tough time keeping someone off your trail, it’ll be him.

So, while he cleans his blaster and pulse rifle, you sit on the floor next to him, bouncing the kid on your knee and talking logistics for the next hunt.

Mando’s decided he’s going to take the child with him on Tatooine. There's someone there who can watch him, Peli something-or-other.

“Nice lady, bit of a spitfire. Lots of droids,” he tells you. “Did you… want to come with me? That thing on Yavin-4, it won’t happen again this time.”

You smile wryly. “By ‘That Thing’ do you mean when you almost got taken out by someone who was basically incapacitated? No thanks.” He kicks your thigh with the side of his foot, and you laugh.

The truth is, you're touched that he wants to bring you along on a hunt. He’s more of a lone operator, and that he thinks you capable enough to keep up with him is extremely flattering.

But if you’re going to leave, this might be your only shot.

The baby coos up at you, and you wonder why he can't seem to sense any of your thoughts when you can sense his. Of course, it’s coming in handy now, because if he knew all your plans to leave him behind he probably wouldn't be too happy about it. 

Maybe he _can_ sense them, but isn't inclined to do much since he’s a foot tall and can’t speak Basic.

“I’ll stay with the ship, make sure Peli doesn't invent some problem to overcharge you for,” you tell him after a bit. He nods, and you turn away so he doesn’t see the sadness in your expression.

A day before you land, he tugs you into bed with him, and you sleep dreamlessly in his arms.  
__

Peli’s nice. If you're a baby wrapped in a burlap sack. Which you’re not.

Okay, Peli isn't mean exactly, she's just headstrong. You remind yourself of that when you tell her you're going into town to get supplies, and she tells _you_ very insistently that one of the droids can do it. If Mando’s not here to foil your plans, Peli sure seems up to the job.

She flits around you constantly, tending to the baby and ordering pit droids around during repairs, asking you questions about Mando and the kid and “How you’re gonna pay for all this.”

No, you and Mando are not together like that (unfortunately). No, the kid hasn't been sick recently (probably). And whenever Mando gets back, he'll take care of payment (obviously).

You like Peli, she's good company, if a bit nosy, but if you're going to escape, you just need one second where she’s not breathing down your neck.

Your wish is granted when the engine you banged up a while back produces an ion leak, and it requires her full attention. She hands the baby to you while she goes to yell at the poor droids.

You rock him gently, looking down as he blinks sleepily. Maybe the reason he can't hear your thoughts is because you've never… actively tried to project them.

If you're gonna do it, it's now or never. You close your eyes, and draw out that feeling of inner-peace that comes so easily if you focus the right way. Thinking about the first time you saw him, you picture the closed pram, opening to reveal one of the strangest creatures you’d ever seen. Wrinkly and green, with long ears covered in white hair. Huge, dark eyes that seemed to know you, even then.

Mando, explaining the details of the job in short sentences to you outside the ship, while the little one reached out for a finger to hold. In the present, you give yours willingly, transmitting the memory and the feelings that went along with it.

He giggles, and you smile sadly. You bring his wrinkled forehead up to your lips, and leave a gentle kiss. You let the child know how much you care for him, how much he means to you, and he seems confused.

Watching Mando go without saying goodbye was hard, but somehow this seems even harder. Maybe it would've been a mercy for you to leave the child without a warning.

You leave him on a crate next to the landing ramp, and yell in Peli’s direction that you’re going into town whether she likes it or not. She’s distracted enough that she just shouts back some unintelligible affirmative, and you walk out of the hangar, leaving the Razor Crest, and your family, behind.  
__

Somehow, you didn't think it’d be this easy. When you head into town and use the credits you've earned working on the Razor Crest to buy yourself supplies for the road, it's a snap to secure transport off the desert planet.

The pilot you're with asks your name, and you give a fake one, hoping you're doing enough to keep Mando off your trail until you can find a more permanent hiding place.

When you ask the pilot to take you to Koiogra-5, they give you a dubious look. There’s practically nothing there, which is why it's perfect. Mando will expect you to go somewhere crowded, like Corellia or Coruscant. Plus, it supposedly has a New Republic presence, which hopefully takes care of the Moff Gideon problem.

You’re chewing your nails on the way there, giving one word answers to the pilot’s questions. Smiling wistfully, you think privately that you learned from the best. 

Koiogra-5 isn’t far from Tatooine, just in the next sector, and it sort of reminds you of Yavin-4, wooded and humid and full of wildlife. Oh yeah, this is the last place Mando would expect you to go.

Patting yourself on the back, you start a trek to who knows where, making sure to conceal your footprints when you’re out of sight from the friendly pilot. Almost too friendly, especially for Tatooine.

“Calm down,” you mutter to yourself. Paranoia isn’t going to get you anywhere. Though there’s that prickling on the back of your neck, you will it away. No matter what happens, Mando and the baby are safe with your departure. That’s all that matters.

There’s no major cities on this planet, just small villages scattered about, so you’ll need to make shelter as you go. Hunting with a blaster is going to be very interesting, and you're sort of looking forward to the challenge.

That night, camped out among the trees, you feel strangely free. It's not like Mando was forcing you to stay, but you’ve always been good at being on your own. You can hardly remember anything else, after all.

Sometimes, and you'd never tell anyone this, your attachments are exhausting. You want to just run away and have an adventure, and now you're finally doing it.

Bone-tired, you settle in and let the dreams come. Whatever happens, you're ready for them.  
__

It’s been a few days, and still no sign from Mando. You feel stupid for wishing he would come looking for you. This is what you wanted, right?

Your grand adventure is turning out to be more than you bargained for. Your calves are burning with every step, your arms tired from swinging at your sides. With your heavy tread, animals are hard to take by surprise, and you find yourself musing about the hours spent laying on the cool durasteel floor of the ship, waiting for Mando to come home. You would kill to go back to those days, wiping sweat from your forehead every other second. But no, you made your decision. This is the right thing to do. Right?

It’s quiet in the trees, the chattering of insects dying down as the sun begins to set. What you wouldn’t give for a breeze, some sign of life. Maybe then you could get transport off this Maker-forsaken planet and find a place with air conditioning.

You’re daydreaming about the cold water in the fresher when you hear it. A rustling. Not an animal rustling, or that of trees, but the very distinctive footfall of a heavy boot somewhere behind you, on your right. Your senses are on high alert, and you whip out your blaster and reach to shoot without thinking. 

There’s a muffled cry, and you turn to look, heart sinking as you watch the stormtrooper crumple to the forest floor. 

Time to run.

He must have been a scout of some kind, because you don’t hear anyone following yet. You don’t waste time looking back to check.

It’s a long while before you hear the reinforcements, and now you’re panicking.

You have no ship, no backup, and one blaster. You’ll just have to make it work.

The setting sun is giving you low visibility, and you wish you had taken that storm troopers helmet so you could have some sort of night vision. You hear one of them in your periphery ordering you to halt, and you take a wild shot, letting your instincts take over, elation coursing through your veins when it hits. For all your cursing of the Force, it’s really coming in handy right now.

You take out another one of the troopers with both hands on your blaster and closed eyes, turning to sprint again before you run face first into a wall of beskar. 

“Mando?” No, no, no. Your insides are twisting, happy to see him but also terrified for his safety. 

This is quite literally the worst possible time for him to have found you. 

He steadies you with warm hands on your shoulders, and you stop yourself from screaming in frustration. “You need to get out of here! What are you doing?”

“Protecting my clan,” he grunts, before he steps in front of you and takes down a trooper that was about to fire right at your back with his pistol. You shake your head, heart racing, and turn to run again. You hear him shout your name before there’s more blaster fire behind you.

You’re not thinking straight, running as fast as you can, hoping you're drawing them away from Mando. How does he always manage to find you in the middle of nowhere? How do you always manage to run into him like this?

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, but you can’t stop. No matter what happens, you have to keep going. 

That lasts about five seconds before you run into a clearing lined with a row of stormtroopers, illuminated by twilight with their blasters trained on you, one man in black at their center.

Bless your lucky fucking stars, it's Moff Gideon.

You skid to a halt, wondering if they'll still fire if you turn and run right now. Maybe you can surprise them so completely with your brazenness that they won't engage. The plan dies the longer you stand there.

Moff Gideon says your full name with the same voice he had in your dream, and your blood runs cold. 

“If you come with me now, any harm that may befall you or your associates in future will be… minimal,” he says in a clipped tone. It’s so clinical, so straightforward. He makes your skin crawl.

“Right to the point with it, huh, Gideon?” You’re trying to play off how scared you are, heart beating out of your chest and praying to the Maker that Mando parked the Crest somewhere far away, that he’s there now protecting the child, that he’s too preoccupied to find you again and do something stupid.

Moff Gideon cocks his head, and it’s painfully similar to how he did it in the dream. Speaking of, you notice he doesn't have his saber. “Lost your sword, Moff? That crackly black thing? Really brings the whole outfit together, let me tell you. Very matchy.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Your lack of intuition astounds me. And here I always assumed you’d be just like your mother.” 

You freeze, not expecting that. “You know my mother?” The curiosity in your voice is borderline pathetic. 

There’s movement in the corner of your eye, and you see a glint on the edge of the tree line. Mando, probably planning something you're both going to regret. Whatever it is, he’s outnumbered, without the barest hope of survival. You shake your head the tiniest bit, hoping he catches the desperate movement.

The stormtroopers closest to him start to turn their heads, and you panic, speaking a little louder now to draw their attention.

“If I go with you… will you take me to her?” He pauses, then nods, and you sense his duplicity. Whatever he's taking you for, you’re probably not walking away from. 

It doesn't matter if he's telling the truth or not. You can't let them get Mando.

Lump in your throat, you turn your head down, raising your hands in surrender and slinking towards the nearest trooper. 

They cuff you, and you go without complaint, praying that this time, Mando won't follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest chapter for me to write so far. Big thanks to my beta for sticking it out with me, she deserves so much credit and I dearly love her. Please let me know what you guys think, I appreciate feedback more than you may realize. Also! We are approaching smut in the next 2? 3 chapters? Be on the lookout >:)


	8. Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the Force be with you.
> 
> Content Warning: Needles, mention of blood, drowning, but again nothing gratuitous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

_Starlight._

Her voice startles you. It’s the first time you’ve heard it while conscious. You’re still cuffed, two stormtroopers on either arm as you’re led down a corridor, hatch doors shutting loudly as you pass.

Tentative, you project your thoughts. _Mama?_ In your head, your voice sounds like what you’d imagine it did when you were a child.

_I can’t hold your hand anymore. You’re going to remember soon, and it won’t be pretty. I’m sorry._

_Remember what?_ What else could there possibly be at this point?

The troopers lead you to a turn, and if you were making an educated guess, you’d say this is the brig.

 _Everything._  
__

The bench you were passed out on in your dream is very uncomfortable in real life. Moff Gideon must’ve decided to let you stew, because you’ve been sitting on the flat surface for Maker knows how long. You aren’t cuffed anymore, but you refuse to move, stomach churning with confusion.

Either Mama is still alive, or you’re genuinely going crazy right now. Was Gideon telling the truth? Is he really going to reunite the two of you? It seems too good to be true after everything that’s happened, but you can’t help but hope.

What are you even gonna do if she is alive? How would you get out of here? Should you even try? You’re afraid that your prayers are going unanswered, and Mando’s hatching some idiotic plot to rescue you. The chances of your dream having been prophetic is growing every minute you’re on this ship, and the anxiety is killing you.

Just as you’re considering moving to give your numb bottom some relief, the cell door whooshes open, and Moff Gideon sweeps in, flanked by two stormtroopers and two medical officers, one of them carrying a tray. 

In Gideon’s hand, partially concealed by his cape, is the handle of the sword from your dream.

Your blood boils, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of making you angry.

Just when the silence is starting to get awkward, you stand abruptly. The stormtroopers train their blasters on you, but Gideon holds up a hand to put them at ease.

“Where is my mother?” You ask it as intimidatingly as you can, not breaking his gaze. He smirks, and you want to smack him.

“It took us awfully long to find you. Whatever she did to keep you hidden, it was very efficient.” He sweeps his gaze over you, as if the secrets are written out on your clothes.

Balling your hands into fists, you ask again, “Where. Is she.”

Tutting, he approaches, and your hackles raise. “Don’t be imprudent. I thought I’d find her with you.” Lie.

Snarling, you back away into a corner. “You’re lying.”

He laughs, a short, dry sound. “Your intuition is not as bad as I thought. Let’s see how strong your other abilities are.” The sword crackles to life, and you jump.

 _The Darksaber,_ you hear Mama’s voice whisper fearfully, and you resist the urge to smack your brain. Knowing what the stupid sword is called is not going to stop you getting skewered by it.

“What do you mean, abilities?” Maybe playing dumb will work out in your favor?

He chuckles humorlessly again. “Don’t play dumb with me.” Shit.

He approaches with the sword, and brings it inches from your nose. You’re staring cross-eyed at it, sweating from the heat. 

“I thought your mother would’ve taught you the significance of such a weapon from your history. Or do you really not know?” You look up at him from the business end of the darksaber, defiance now replaced with fear.

He hums and lowers the blade, disappointed, then nods over his shoulder. You finally notice the large syringe sitting on the metal dish, and your eyes widen.

The one not holding the tray lifts it from its place, and approaches you slowly. He seems apologetic when you try to scramble away from him, and Gideon directs the stormtroopers to hold you down.

You scream as the needle pierces your skin, more from sheer terror than any actual pain. The Moff seems unaffected, and when the clear cylinder is filled with dark blood, the strange entourage leaves immediately, but he lingers.

“You couldn’t hide forever. This was inevitable. If you fight me, you’ll only make it harder on yourself.” With this declaration, he leaves, the cell door slamming shut on your quiet sobs.  
__

Periodically, they drag you kicking and screaming to a dark room filled with computers and bacta tanks. In the center is a human sized, table-like machine that scans you and takes your blood. That first syringe must’ve just been a sample, because this apparatus leaves you drained and cold when they take you back to the brig.

When you’re not being prodded at like a science experiment, you sleep; and more than that, you dream. It happens even when you're awake now, drowsing in your cell, dazed as images flash over your vision.

You see an old man, the ocean, and Mama’s face, still not perfectly visible, but clearer than ever. 

Sprawled on the bench, you're trying to pick apart her features when you're startled by Mando’s voice. 

_They took her._

You hear Cara say your name, a question. Is this real? 

Sitting up, you blink away black spots and focus, using all the energy you have left to zero in on this conversation. 

_I need your help locating someone in the prison registry. Last name Mayfeld. Ex-Imperial sharpshooter. I need to spring him to help me locate Moff Gideon’s light cruiser._

You can’t see so much as sense Cara’s trepidation. _That’s a tough nut to crack Mando. You’re gonna need all the help you can get._

_I’ve got people already. I just need him for clearance codes._

You hear clicking, like the typing of keys, and then Cara’s speaking again. _He’s serving fifty years in the Karthon Chop Fields. Let’s go._

Your ears pop, like they do when you’ve just left atmo, and you’re aware of your surroundings again. 

You smack a hand to your forehead and slump over, wishing this connection went two ways so you could slap some sense into Mando. Of course he’s going to try and rescue you. 

Suddenly you’re even more exhausted than before. Your eyelids feel like they’re made of durasteel, trying to slam shut on you. You’re too scared to fall asleep again, too anxious to think about anything except what you’re going to do if Mando succeeds and finds himself in your cell with Moff Gideon.

It’s infuriating, this self-fulfilling prophecy that you’re being pulled into. You can’t just let Mando die. You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him because of you.

Exasperated tears drip off your lashes. Whatever they’re doing to you in that lab is so draining, you can barely sit up, let alone think about protecting Mando.

Finally, you let sleep wash over you, drifting back to the ocean once more.  
__

Since your initial arrival, you’ve been left alone besides those delightful trips to the lab, losing track of time and chewing the skin around your nails bloody. 

When Moff Gideon enters your dimly lit cell again, he’s unaccompanied. You can barely lift your head, trembling and stiff.

His hands are behind his back, and you desperately hope he’s not gonna try anything with the darksaber again.

“So. This is what's left of the Jedi.” Your head suddenly feels like it's splitting in two, and you grimace. You recognize the word, repeated over and over again by voices in your waking dreams, too tired to try and place its significance.

“Please,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He cocks his head. “I want to know,” he says, taking a few steps in your direction. “If you can wield a saber.” He holds out the hilt to you.

You stare at it, slightly disbelieving. He’s giving you a weapon? “What are you playing at?”

He shrugs, taking it back and resuming his pacing. “Not many children of Jedi exist. I’m curious to see how much your mother taught you.”

Your head hurts too much, and you can barely understand what he's saying. “My mother,” you grit out. “Is a Jedi?”

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't believe your ignorance. 

“You must be very strong, yet you haven't tried to fight us using any of your… abilities. What is your endgame here?”

You groan, exasperated and in pain. “I don’t know what you're talking about, please-” The sound of the saber igniting renders you silent.

“I will give you time to recover. We have all we need from you, for now. But-” he lifts the end of the darksaber to your chin, and you use all your strength to sit upright. “Heed me. I know what you're capable of. And you will show me. Whether you like it or not.”  
__

The experiments stop, but you’re still plagued by memories. The more you think the word, _Jedi,_ the less it hurts to think about. 

One day, when you're more well rested, laying on your back and staring at the ceiling, you suddenly see the old man, brushing away the hair stuck to your forehead by ocean spray. _I’ve lost contact with Ama._

You feel strange, your mind wiped clean, a blank slate.

 _Mama,_ you say in a daze. The word doesn’t connect to a face anymore, but you know it’s someone important.

He turns back to you and nods, and you see sorrow in his ancient eyes. _With her gone, it is only a matter of time before they come for you, and anyone who aided in your concealment. My family…_

He pats your head and says your name softly. _I cannot hide you anymore. I’ve done all I can. After all these years, I never thought it’d be so hard to say a goodbye._

You nod, and it's a hollow movement. You both sit, he tips your head back into the water, the memory of the conversation washing away.

Except, it doesn't. Because you’re remembering it now. It wasn't erased, only hidden away, blocked somehow.

In the present, your fingers twitch, and the metal cup from your last meal moves the tiniest bit.  
__

Moff Gideon is still trying to get you to use your powers. The Force, except he won't just say that for some reason. He keeps calling it “abilities.” 

“Take the saber from me. Go on, then you could cut me down and escape.” He doesn't even seem mildly frustrated despite how long this is taking him. You hug your knees to your chest.

“Really, Moff, you’ll have to do better than that.” You look at the deadly weapon in his outstretched hand and sniff.

He’s too far away for you to just grab it. No, he wants you to use the Force to somehow levitate it into your hand. No thanks. Whatever he’s hoping to accomplish from this, he's not going to get it easy.

“Besides,” you tell him, picking at your raw nail beds. “Where would I even go? It doesn't sound like you've thought out my escape plan very thoroughly.”

He’s quiet for a minute, shifting his jaw. “Back to your Mandalorian, of course.” You freeze. 

He chuckles. “That got your attention.” One of the stormtroopers at the door shifts nervously.

“Do you miss him terribly?” Gideon asks, and you can't help the pang that shoots through you. “You must've been very close. And the child.” You look up at him, trying to seem indifferent. “You must care for him as well.”

Your hands are itchy, but you ignore them. “It was just a job I had for a couple months. Mandalorians aren't especially cuddly people.” You’re taken back to nights spent laying with Mando in the bunk, holding his hands in yours, falling asleep to the rhythm of his breathing.

Moff Gideon hums, taking a few steps to your left, and you hate how he's always pacing. Can’t he just stand still for two minutes?

“Plus, I hate kids.” Not a total lie. You hadn't exactly loved them before the little green guy had come into your life. He had changed everything.

He laughs a little, and you hope you aren't overselling it. “And yet, you'd risk your life for theirs.”

You try to shrug in a natural way. “I’m a loyal crewmate.”

“I’ve heard reports that it goes the other way too. That the Mandalorian is scouring the galaxy, searching for you as we speak.” Your heart thumps in your chest.

“Well if that were true, you'd be dead by now.” Thank the stars he can't read minds, doesn't know about your dream.

He smiles wryly. “You put a lot of stock in his capabilities. Do you feel the same about your mother?” He’s facing away now, and you’re glad, because every mention of Mama leaves you feeling torn open, vulnerable and yearning for answers.

“Where is she? And don't lie this time. You’re no good at it,” you spit.

He waves a hand, unconcerned. “I was hoping your abilities would go beyond fib detection. I don’t know where she is.” 

You realize that you've been clenching your teeth, and try to release the tension in your body. There’s a strange energy humming over your skin, and you don't like it.

“What I do know,” he says, turning back to you. “Is that she was weak, like all the Jedi.” Your neck feels hot. “An order of religious fools, elite warriors struck down with one sentence, all but wiped out. No, I don't know what happened to your mother, but I can’t imagine it was pleasant.” 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bench now, fury lining every bone in your body. Both stormtroopers stand a little straighter, probably sensing your hostility.

Moff Gideon studies you, unimpressed. “I suppose weakness is an inherited trait.”

You snarl, leaping up and reaching your hand out. The saber flies into your palm, black blade sizzling to life.

You only have one second to revel in your surprise before the stormtroopers fire, blasters set to stun.

Pushed back onto the bench, you slump over, barely feeling the buzzing cuffs sliding onto your wrists, your arms numb. 

Gideon’s voice is muffled, like he’s speaking to you from under ten layers of blankets. 

“Now, that wasn't so hard. Maybe I’ll have use for you after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I'm really on a roll with this you guys. I already have drafts for the next two chapters, and basically the rest of the storyline thought out. Please come say hi on Tumblr! I really like interacting with you guys there, but of course I always appreciate comments!
> 
> Edit: I hope you guys realize that the reader is going to make mistakes. Like how Anakin had a premonition of Padmé dying, and then ended up killing her trying to prevent it. That's what I'm trying to get across, I hope I'm not being too confusing or having the reader come off as stupid or mean. Leaving was not necessarily the right thing for the reader to do, but it's what she thought would be best for everyone, even though she was ultimately wrong. Please remember that people make mistakes, and that's what allows room for growth, which is what I'm trying to show. All love to my wonderful readers. :)


	9. Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holding out for a hero.
> 
> Content Warning: Spoilers if you haven't watched the new season of the Mandalorian, another brief mention of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr.

_Moff Gideon is mine._ You don’t know the owner of this new voice.

 _He’s ex-ISB, he’s got a lot of information. I need him alive._ Cara. You feel slightly better now that you recognize someone.

 _I don’t care what happens to him, so long as he surrenders to me._ This person’s tone is low, imposing. You feel a prickle of unease.

 _Prepare to exit jump space._ Another voice, deep and gruff. Who are all these strangers? Is this Mando’s rescue team? You suddenly feel way worse about his odds.

The conversation fades, but you’re still paralyzed with anxiety. You’re not usually aware of it when you’re unconscious, and it’s deeply uncomfortable. 

_Hello?_ you shout into the nothing. For a long time, there’s no response, and you float in the dark.

 _It’s almost time._ Mama says, startling you, and the words sound hollow. You can see her in the distance now, turned away. 

_Everything’s going to be different after this._ The ground suddenly vibrates and you stumble, trying to get your bearings back. 

_What do you mean?_ Everything’s different already. So much has changed in so little time, it makes your head spin.

Another rumble. Can earthquakes happen in dreams? Is this a reflection of what’s happening in the real world? You’re unsteady on your feet, but manage to get within a few steps of her.

 _Soon, you won't need me anymore._ She’s fidgeting with her hands, and it reminds you so much of your own anxious habits that you soften.

 _Where are you? Is this some kind of message? A Force projection? Help me find you-_ You grab onto her shoulder, but she won’t budge, and you groan. This again.

 _Don’t look at me,_ she whispers. _I failed you._ Her form crumbles away, replaced by the old man you’ve been seeing more and more. _We all did._

You shuffle backwards, confused. _You?_

The ground under your feet turns to liquid, and you scream as you're submerged into the black water, hands clawing to get back to the surface. 

Any light there was is fading away the deeper you sink. You kick and flail, survival instinct taking over. 

The dream melts away as your chest begins to burn, desperate for oxygen.  
__

“...That you think you have some control over this situation.” You haven’t opened your eyes yet, but easily recognize the words coming out of Moff Gideon’s mouth. You’re so happy to get air in your lungs that it takes you a second to register what’s going on. This is seriously the worst case of déjà vu ever.

But that means-

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll call off Bo-Katan and her crew, if you let me take her. I don’t care about your laser sword. I just want the girl.” Your stomach twists itself into knots at the sound of Mando’s voice.

Your chest feels like it’s being weighed down by a herd of banthas, and you can’t get your limbs to move. You’ve dwelled on this moment so many times that you could time the interaction perfectly even without auditory cues. It’s like you’re still half-dreaming. The whoosh of the dark saber retracting, followed by the thump of Mando’s boots. You need to get up, _now._

Mando should be reaching for you. You need to warn him, need to do _something_ besides lay here like a sack of potatoes.

It’s too late, the saber reignites, and hopelessness flares up in you. Leaving was pointless if it still brought you here, to this, the worst moment of your life. There’s a scream trapped in your chest, but it never comes. Your eyes creak open in time to watch Gideon’s blade cut a savage arc into Mando, the best friend you’ve ever had, the only person who’s ever felt like home to you.

You watch as the blade glances off his armor. 

Mando didn’t just get sliced in half. Mando’s still alive. You’ve been agonizing over this moment for nothing. Something about that revelation brings life back to your joints, and you move, though not much. You sit up and watch Mando spin around and retaliate to Gideon’s attack with a silver staff that you’ve never seen before.

The fight quickly moves into the hallway. The cuffs are inhibiting you somehow, and they need to come off in order for you to help Mando.

Frustrated, you bang them against the bench, watching as they fizzle and spark, but remain locked around your wrists. You rise to shaky feet, listening helplessly to the sounds of combat. Tripping, you wonder if the best thing for you to do is stay in the cell until Mando’s done, when you spot a fallen trooper next to the door. Bingo.

After the cuffs pop off, you’re more lucid than you were a second ago.

“Time to bust some heads,” you murmur, and sprint to the next hallway, where Gideon seems to have the upper hand on Mando. All he needs is one shot at a non-armored part of his body, and it’s over.

You shout furiously and raise an arm in their direction. A tide of unexpected anger rises in you, and Moff Gideon looks up just in time as he’s flung back ten feet, darksaber flying out of his hand and skittering across the shiny black floor.

Mando is standing to the side, breathing heavily, but you don’t pay him any attention as you stalk towards Gideon. You grab the darksaber from where it lies and ignite it, holding the blade under his chin.

There’s fear in his eyes, for once.

“Do I seem weak now?” You bring the blade higher and singe a bit of his eyebrow off. He gulps.

Your gut feels twisted, different from how it usually is when you manipulate the Force. Powerful, raging, vindictive. Your anger is growing as you stand there, furious at his cowering.

It stops when you hear Mando say your name softly. It’s like you forgot how to exhale in all that time, and all the breath leaves your body as you pull away from Gideon.

His fear quickly melts away, replaced with haughtiness. “You’re sparing me? This should be interesting.”

You spit, and he jerks away. Turning to Mando, you’re suddenly shy. He just takes you in, and you sense his relief, even if he’s not saying much. This is probably not the optimal time for a reunion.

He sidesteps you, bending down to put Gideon in his own cuffs.

Rising to his feet, he looks you dead in the eye. “You won’t get another chance like this again. Remember that.”  
__

Mando drags him all the way to the main bridge in silence, the darksaber sizzling at your side. Neither one of you really knows what to say. You personally feel light, full of hot air. Mando’s alive, Moff Gideon didn’t end up killing him after all. Everything after this will be cake.

That thought dies when you walk in and see the looks on people’s faces. One of them in particular. She’s wearing blue Mandalorian armor, but no helmet, which makes you do a double take. When she speaks, you recognize her voice as the one from your last dream.

The one who said Moff Gideon was hers.

“What happened?” She’s not concealing her rage very well. You lean towards Cara in what you hope is a surreptitious manner and stage-whisper, “Who’s the angry chick?”

She gives you a look, and you shrug. “That’s Bo-Katan Kryze. And they brought him in alive, that’s what happened.” She announces the last part loudly to the rest of the room, and you glance back at them.

“That’s not what she’s asking,” Gideon says, stepping towards Bo-Katan. Your eyes narrow. “Why don’t you kill her now, and take it?” He nods at you, and you’re confused.

“Kill me?” you ask as Cara pushes him down.

“The darksaber is yours now. It belongs to you,” he explains.

“I mean, she doesn’t need to _kill_ me for it. It’s a cool sword, but if she wants it-” You walk up to Bo-Katan and hold it out for her to take.

Moff Gideon laughs. “You weren’t lying, were you? You really don’t know what it is?” He’s way too smug for your liking. ”She can’t just take it. It must be won… in battle.” You realize now that she looks very uncomfortable at your offering. The silence goes on a little longer before you think of something to say.

“Okay, so, you could easily beat me in combat. Just go ahead and rough me up, I promise I won’t take it personally. Then, it’s yours.” You get the feeling it’s not that simple, but you suggest it anyway. She still won’t meet your gaze, and dread is starting to creep up your neck.

“Oh no,” Gideon chuckles. “It doesn’t work that way. The darksaber doesn’t have power, the story does. Without it, she’s a pretender to the throne of Mandalore.”

He looks up at her, self-satisfied, and you whip him with the butt of the saber. He’s knocked onto his back with an “Oof”, but his bloody smirk is no less triumphant. 

“He’s right,” Bo-Katan says softly, and you stare at her in disbelief before an alarm starts to go off.

“What if we all just agree to be really cool, and pretend that she beat me?” you ask over the loud beeping. Mando says your name warningly, and you shut up.

“We’re being boarded. Dark troopers,” says a woman with dark braided hair and high cheekbones that you don’t recognize.

Gideon addresses Mando. “You had your hands full with one. Let’s see how you handle a platoon.”

You’re looking back and forth at everyone scrambling to set up defenses, frustration mounting before Mando leads you to a quiet corner of the bridge with a gloved hand on your back.

“I’m going to get you out of here _mesh’la,_ don’t worry.” Your eyes are wide, ears burning. It’s been so long since you were alone together. All you can focus on is him, and not the impending doom you could be facing.

“You know, you keep saying all these pretty words to me when you know I don’t know what they mean. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” You expect him to call you out for goofing around when you should be serious, as usual, so you’re surprised when he pulls you in and wraps you in a hug. You don’t think anyone’s watching, but you still feel a little self-conscious about it. Open affection is not necessarily your thing.

Regardless, your arms wrap around his neck and stand on your tippy-toes, joy lighting every nerve in your body.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and your breath catches. 

A hand rests on the back of his neck, the part unobstructed by his cloak. His arms reach all the way around you, squeezing tightly. “Careful, boss,” you tease. “This could become a habit.”

“I didn’t miss you throwing my words back at me. Quit that.” You laugh softly, face flushed.

“You love it.” He spreads his gloved hand over the expanse of your lower back, and you forget to inhale.

When he finally lets go, and your brain is back in working order, you remember something. 

“Where’s the kid?”

He rubs the back of the helmet, and it’s the cutest gesture you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “I uh, left him with a friend.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s having a great time.”

Mando walks away, and you puff out a breath. On the monitors you see them: the dark troopers. You almost forgot that was happening. A shiver runs down your spine. They’re terrifying. Bo-Katan barks out an order to seal the blast doors, and your heart starts racing. There’s a blaster left unclaimed on the floor and you pick it up with shaking hands.

Stomping over to take sentry next to Gideon, you stare down at his pathetic figure. “You sure like things with the dark- prefix, don’t you?” He looks up, unamused.

The troopers are getting closer, and you can feel their steps shaking the ground, when suddenly, they halt.

The silence that follows is bone-chilling. The blast doors are sturdy, sure, but you can sense the unease coursing through the bridge. You just pray to the Maker that the doors hold up.

You jump when they begin pounding on the metal, terror gripping you like a vice, but you ignore it. Mando said he’d get you out of here. He promised. You won't doubt him now.

Though you’re happy the child’s somewhere safe, you can’t help but wish he was here for you to hold. His presence is such a comfort, and you haven’t even had your chance at a reunion. Mando’s standing up front, pistol aimed and at the ready, and you wonder if it’d be inappropriate for you to activate the darksaber right now after that whole exchange. This random blaster probably isn't going to do much in the way of defense against those things.

“It was a valiant effort,” Moff Gideon says abruptly over the sound of the doors being struck, still sprawled at your feet. “But I think we all know that once those doors are breached…” He pauses, and the metal is visibly dented now. “The only ones left alive will be me… and the girl.”

You could cut the tension in the room with a vibroblade, but everyone holds steady. You barely even know half the people in here, and you’re about to watch them all die.

Just as the hatch looks fit to burst, the alarm goes off again. Everyone turns their heads toward the sound, and you notice a ship through the transparisteel. “An X-Wing?”

“One X-Wing. We’re saved,” Cara says dryly, resuming her position.

Bo-Katan tells the incoming craft to identify themselves just as a wave of vertigo nearly knocks you into Moff Gideon. You stumble a few steps back, steadying yourself on a control panel.

Cara says your name, startled. Mando looks over at you, and you try to reassure him with a smile, but it’s more like a grimace. 

You glance at a monitor, watching the X-Wing dock, and can tell that whoever the pilot is, they’re causing the disturbance you’re sensing. Looking down, you blink away black spots, fighting to stay awake.

You look back at Mando, who’s approaching you quickly now. 

Mumbling incoherently, the last thing you see before you black out is a cloaked figure on one of the monitors, briskly making their way down the hall, cutting down the dark troopers in their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am road tripping by myself for the first time tomorrow so I wanted to get this chapter out a little early! I know I copied a lot of dialogue from the last episode, but I tried to make it as varied as possible for the sake of the story I'm trying to tell. I'll try to avoid it from now on. Also, I wonder why Luke is here if the baby isn't with them.......... Ahaha.


	10. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything in its right place.
> 
> Content warning: This is less of a content thing and more of just a heads up. The narrative is told in reverse, aka Reader gets her memories back, but not in chronological order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

Mama doesn't look how you expected. To be fair, you don't think you were expecting anything at all.

She’s so much like you, it’s shocking. The last feature of hers you remember being hidden was her eyes, and you’re struck by the importance of such a tiny detail. She’s not that much older than you are. This must be what she looked like when you saw her last.

The sea you're standing on is like glass; smooth, tranquil. Peaceful.

“So… This is it?” you ask.

She nods, a bit sheepish. “John Jakar didn’t do his job as well as he should have.”

John Jakar. You remember the old man. The memories aren’t exactly flooding back all at once, but this one you recognize.

The ocean is familiar. You’ve seen it a hundred times in dreams, except this time it’s different, it’s not scary anymore. There’s a golden light filling the sky, and it looks like the sun is rising. “It’s beautiful here,” you murmur before turning back to face her.

Reaching out, you take her hands in yours. They’re rough; warrior’s hands. “You’re… gone. Aren’t you? This isn’t real.” She nods hesitantly, and your heart sinks, even though you’ve sort of known it all along.

Inhaling deeply, you stare down at your reflections in the water. “What lesson is the Force trying to teach me with this?” 

She laughs at that. “That’s not how the Force works.” Her hand cups your cheek, and you can only recall one other person ever doing this for you. It always hurts the same. You never deserve it, but you close your eyes anyway and accept the gesture.

“I’m here… to ease your transition. Out of ignorance. It can be very hard to remember so much at once. You’ve only been given bits and pieces so far, but now it’s time for the rest. And then…”

Your eyes open, floored again at how much you see of her in you. “Then?”

She smiles a little sadly. “And then. Onward.”  
__

You're running, but you don't know where to; ignoring the stitch in your side, you’re practically flying.

Someone's pulling you along, wheezing, but you don't know him, only that you trust him. The jungle is so humid, it’s like breathing in steam.

Tripping, you yelp as you both fall into a sinkhole, concealed by bushy foliage. A wrinkled hand clamps over your mouth to quiet your loud breathing. 

Minutes later, thundering footsteps pass by your hiding place.

The old man next to you is praying now, tears streaming down his withered face and disappearing into his scraggly white beard. He blubbers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as he pushes your head back into a puddle, and you forget all about him.

When you wake up, hours later, your hair is damp and you're alone, with only a vague inkling of how you came to be here. You stumble on your way back home, and when you get there, it’s empty.  
__

It’s raining on the beach today. To be fair, it does that a lot.

Since the planet is mostly ocean, practically all landforms are comprised of wet, crumbling sand. You can’t recall the last time you touched grass. You’re remembering less and less every time you come here.

This is good, decidedly. Even though you can’t feel that strange energy flowing through your fingertips anymore, and your head is like an empty shell, this is what’s best. You don’t remember why that is, why you agreed to this. You just tell yourself that soon, you won’t even remember to be sad.

Just a few more trips, John Jakar told you, and it’ll be done. 

“I wonder what kind of person I’ll be,” you remark.

He chuckles, a tired sound. “I can’t imagine you’ll ever stop being a troublemaker.”

You both wade out into the water a little farther this time than he usually cares to. He’s getting up there in years, and the journey wears on him. He’s like a father to you, and soon you won’t remember him either.

He tips you back under the water, and you float; a little more of you getting left behind. You don’t choke on the rain anymore, or the water filling your nose. It’s like second nature to you after so many years.

There are certain memories that only need modification, speeder chases and summer nights. Adolescence. Things that will inform your skill sets out in the world, if need be. 

You’ll still be able to function. You’ll still be yourself, just minus a few key things.

John Jakar takes very carefully, putting safeguards in place. Too much erased, and you’d be no better than a droid. Too little, and this might not even work. It’s a delicate effort.

The water is cool, and it rushes over your face, a dull roar in your ears. There’s no fear in staying under, in losing memories.

You let the rocking of the ocean carry you away without a fight.  
__

John Jakar’s granddaughter is so kind, just like him. She’s young, as young as you were when you first came, but whip smart. She teaches you to shoot, runs with you through the desert, shows you which pallie fruits are best for eating. However, friendship with her is limited; operating under the understanding that you won’t be around forever. It’s a little lonely, but you've gone without friends your whole life. You’ll survive.

You’re not supposed to go far from the hut without John Jakar, but after so many years, he pretends to turn a blind eye to your escapades. You don’t go far, regardless.

You were better at firing a blaster a year ago, back when you could still wield the Force a little. Now that that part of you has been fully erased, the next thing to fix is your memories. It’s scary, but you always knew it was coming. Mostly you just try not to think about it.

When you dream at night, you see the temple Mama told you about as a kid, before she brought you to John Jakar. It’s changed over the years as you’ve gotten older, evolved with your young mind. 

It’s too dangerous for her to visit anymore, the grip of the Empire growing tighter around the remnants of the dead Republic. You miss her, but you’re an adult now. Every creature must make their way through the galaxy without their forebears at one point or another. This is just… your time, you guess.

Regardless, you have John Jakar, and he still hears from her occasionally. It’s juvenile, but you still have a spark of hope that you’ll see her again.

Hope is all there is left.  
__

The suns are getting low, and John Jakar still won’t let you outside. He rarely ever does, and it’s so hard to sneak out without getting caught. Nothing gets past him.

“No one’s going to see me,” you whine, but he just pats your head consolingly. You privately think you’re getting a little old for him to treat you like this.

Mama only visits so often, less and less as the years go by. She’s risking a lot, every time she comes to see you. You know this. You remember the stories.

Your mother is still on the run from the Empire. On the run from one person in particular it seems, but she doesn’t much talk about it. Her trips are very short, and she mostly holds you and combs your hair with her fingers, humming softly. 

When no one’s around, you levitate objects, whatever you can find. A brush, a cup, small things. You get weaker after every trip to the sea, and John Jakar would probably be upset if he found you practicing, undoing all the hard work he’s done. 

Small wonder it’s taking so long.  
__

“What are you doing? I told you not to come, it’s not safe here.”

Your hands are small, clutching your Mama’s skirts. The journey here was long and perilous, and you are so tired. 

“Please,” she whispers, and she is tall, strong. Desperation from her is out of character.

“Ama, you are putting me and my family in danger. I must ask that you leave.” You’ve never met the man before, but he looks to be past middle age. There are lines in his face, deepened by the solemnity of his words.

“You’re my only hope. Please, I need you to hide her.” Anxiety exaggerates the pitch of her voice, and though you don’t completely understand what’s going on, you have a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

He looks down at you, and you cower. He softens. “She will never be the same after this. You realize that, don’t you? Everything that makes her special will be gone.”

Mama inhales shakily, fingers brushing through your hair fleetingly. “Do it.”

He sighs, and gestures to you. “Come here, young one.” You look up at Mama. She nods, encouraging you.

Hesitantly, you approach the stranger. He takes stock of you, hands on shoulders, and you have trouble maintaining eye contact. “She’d be just the right age for a padawan, in the old days.” He chuckles, a bit sadly.

“She is strong in the Force. It’s been a challenge to keep her hidden.” She looks almost proud, and you swell a bit. 

The man reaches into his pocket, pulling out a stray bolt. “Would you show me?” You stare down at the tiny object, slipping your eyes shut and concentrating. You draw on inner peace like Mama taught you, and after a moment, there's a gasp. 

When your eyes open, you realize you did your job a little too well. Nearly every object not anchored down is floating inches off their respective surfaces. As soon as your concentration breaks, they drop like stones.

“Impressive. You have taught her the ways of the Jedi?” 

Your mother shifts uncomfortably. “She doesn’t have a lightsaber, if that’s what you’re asking. No; she’s only heard stories. No combat. I shouldn’t have taught her what she knows now. It will only be harder for you to… do your work.” You look down, ashamed for the first time at your abilities.

He waves a hand, but still seems chagrined. “That’s for me to worry about. What will you do?”

You look up at Mama, curious yourself. “Keep moving. Avoid the fate of her father, our friends. It’ll be a relief to know she’s safe with you, no matter what comes of me.” You reach out to take one of her hands, concerned. 

She rarely mentions your father, besides the fact that he was a Jedi, like her.

Mama squeezes your fingers, and you notice the lines around the corners of her mouth. She looks exhausted, aged past her years.

“Ama… it might not work the way you want it to. This… technique. My understanding of it is very limited, it’s been years since I last attempted it.” He runs a hand through his beard, a nervous habit of his you’ll come to recognize in time.

Mama looks down at you, chest rising with a shaky inhale. “You know I wouldn't be here if I didn't have another choice.”

They stare at one another with peculiar expressions, and you start to count the sunspots dusting his cheeks. 

She gulps, and releases your hand. “Well, I should go. I’ve stayed too long already.” 

Anxiety blooms in your chest, and you speak for the first time since you arrived. “Mama?” Your voice is so small. Frightened.

She crouches to your level, brushes a thumb over your cheek, but it doesn’t comfort you. “I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can, starlight. For now, stay with John Jakar. I promise I’ll explain more when you see me next. This is what’s best.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, but she wipes it away with a reassuring smile.

She presses a kiss to your forehead, then leaves the hut, illuminated by golden light.  
__

When you find yourself back on the beach, you’re sitting cross-legged next to John Jakar on the surf.

“You didn’t erase everything completely,” you say, almost accusatory, and he nods.

“I couldn’t bring myself to. The galaxy had so little hope, after the Jedi were eliminated. Few remained to remember their ways, and you were all that was left of our religion, as far as we knew. I left the Order long before you were born, but I still recognized the importance of what they taught. Even after years spent questioning them, I didn’t want it all to get lost. I didn’t want you to lose… the best parts of yourself.” 

He sighs deeply, and you gaze out onto the horizon. 

“The child… he was the key. Everything felt different after we met,” you say. He nods again, scratching his beard. 

“In a way, you were always meant to change one another. Love does that, in ways we never expect. Just as we are all connected through the Force, you were fated to be each other’s protectors. Family. Your Mandalorian would call it ‘The Way.’” He gestures grandly.

“Except I don’t have to wear the helmet,” you say, smiling.

You look down at where his hands rest in the sand, and they’re wrinkled, joints gnarled. A soft wind blows, grabbing your attention, but the water still doesn’t ripple. It’s smooth, reflecting the pink and rosy sky. The moons are rising.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you say quietly, head craned, staring up at the blushing clouds. “But instead I just mucked it all up. I might’ve ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He shifts a bit, placing his hand in yours briefly. “Your Mandalorian still came to find you, didn’t he? And you saved him, in the end.” He pauses, shaking his head. “You are fallible. That is, you are human. We all do what we think is right in the moment, whether it actually is or not. Who’s to say I did right by you?”

“I don't think anybody would say that.” You both laugh, and it hurts again, that melancholy ache.

What a gift, this moment; a gift you know can't last forever. He’s running on borrowed time.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, but you already know the answer. 

John Jakar smiles sadly. “You and the child are bonded. You have a family of your own, a place of belonging that you earned through blood and tears. The Mandalorian considers it the most sacred pact of all.” 

There’s a hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair, and you know she's there. Mama. “You don’t need us. You haven't, for a long time,” she says gently.

Your eyes shut, and you feel like any second this cavernous sorrow will shatter you. “I missed you so much. I didn’t think I could do that anymore.”

“I know, starlight.” You turn to face her, and notice your lips both turn down at the corners in the exact same way. She cups your cheek one last time. “But you must go, live, make mistakes. Our time has passed. Yours is only beginning.”

Your fingers dig into your knees, but eventually, you let go. When you exhale, the ocean moves with your breath, the Force flowing through you, memories back where they belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know this chapter was kind of filler but I had a really good time writing it. Hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I read this thing about how amnesia works backwards, so you lose your most recent memories first, and I kind of wanted to include that. I think everyone who's been waiting for spicy chapters is gonna very happy with the next update. ;)  
> Here's a link to my Mando/DreamWeaver playlist if anyone's interested! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0cxvA9mWpd3UZtWCzgNfTp?si=Wr3bXexHTbqxxfhtdKe56Q  
> As always, I really appreciate all the comments on here and interactions over on my Tumblr, I really like hearing what you guys have to say!


	11. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hands in the dark.
> 
> Content Warning: It's basically all smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

Waking up is harder than it usually is this time. You groan, blinking your eyes open to a familiar sight.

You never thought you'd be so happy to see the ceiling of Mando’s compartment.

His body is warm at your back, arm secured around you, breath heavy in sleep. The ship is in hyperdrive, if the hum surrounding you is any indicator. You smile, relieved. Everything is in its right place.

Except one thing.

You sit up a bit, realizing you don’t see the baby anywhere, or even sense him. Mando said he was with a friend, so should you assume that’s still the case? It must be, if he’s sleeping peacefully. 

You try to relax. Mando’s got the parenting better under control than you do, you shouldn't worry.

Suddenly, his breathing changes and he shifts, arms tightening around your waist.

“I didn't mean to wake you up,” you say. He hums noncommittally. Your head falls back onto his chest, and you just listen to the sounds of the ship hurtling towards its destination. Guilt slams into you like a rogue speeder when you remember that the last time you were here, you were planning an escape.

Your fingers crawl up to the fabric of his cape and grip tightly. His armor’s off already, and you notice his gloves are missing. Funny. You don't even have to ask anymore.

“I’m sorry I left,” you whisper. 

His hand travels down your waist, breaching the hem of your shirt, and you stop breathing when his naked fingers splay over the skin of your belly.

His voice is steady and low, helmet dropping to the crook of your neck. “I missed you.” Mando’s still a man of few words. And he still wants you around, after everything you've done.

The contact is making you a little stupid, all of your long and formal apologies dying on your tongue as he rubs gentle circles into your skin. Wetness collects in your eyes, and you just mumble, “I’m sorry,” over and over again until he maneuvers you to straddle his lap. 

A traitorous tear rolls down your cheek, and he wipes it away. You’re always crying, it's embarrassing. You wish you could rein in your emotions the way he does. His hands reach around you to crawl under your shirt again, and you shiver as they spread out, blazing hot against your chilled skin.

You sink into him while he gingerly explores the smooth expanse of your back. There’s a controlled urgency in his movements, and you imagine he doesn't have much experience touching other people. You feel heavy, fluid, syrupy under his hands.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he rasps, and you shake your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Not your fault,” your mumble. “Shouldn't have left, stupid mistake.” You hold him tighter and shift a little.

The last thing you expected was to feel hardness brush against your thigh.

He’s… turned on? From touching you? His hands stall. He definitely felt that.

You pull back slowly to look into his visor, face blazing. You’re both frozen for a moment, unsure what to do. 

Then, in the most unexpected move yet, he pulls you down onto him and _grinds_ into you.

Your lips part, a little dumbstruck. You’ve always sort of… assumed that Mando wouldn’t want that sort of thing with you. He’s so… him. Sexy voice, lots of swagger, but armored head to toe; unyielding. Literally shielded from everyone. It takes a second to remember that he’s yielded plenty; to you at least. Fingers gripping the front of his padded shirt, you move your hips hesitantly, still not quite registering that this is actually happening.

His hands resume their exploration, hitching your shirt up and exposing your midriff to the empty compartment. His fingers dig into your shoulder blades, and you shiver. “Mando?” you whisper, eyes half-lidded, and he groans. 

This is so much, so fast. You bury your face in the cloth covering his neck again, heart beating out of your chest, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“H-how, why,” you stutter breathlessly as his hands shift down.

He grabs one of your thighs for leverage, clothed length digging into your center achingly slow, and you whimper. “Should've done this a long time ago, sweetheart. Then maybe you wouldn't have left.”

“I didn't want to, I’m sorry-” You’re making quiet breathy noises, sounds that you've never made with anyone else, and it seems to spur him on. His hands cup your bottom, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Wanna get you off like this, make sure you never leave, make sure y-you know you belong here with me, on the ship,” he stutters, and every word is peeling you open, leaving you raw and vulnerable in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, promise I won't leave again, I promise-” He thrusts particularly hard and you cry out softly, leaning forward and mouthing at the dark cloth, tears slipping out and soaking it. You’re so sensitive for no reason, other than the fact that it's _him._

“You promise, _mesh’la?_ I don’t take promises lightly. You need to mean it.” He whispers that last part, and it feels like he’s setting you on fire. He’s hardly done anything and you feel like you could cum. 

“Mando, please,” you beg, chasing the mounting friction on your clit. He murmurs your name back in response, so gentle even when he's debauching you.

“Please what? Are you gonna cum like this, pretty girl? I’ve barely even touched you. Imagine what it'll be like when I’m inside.” A rush travels up your spine and down to your toes, making them curl in your socks. You’ve imagined sex with him before, but never like this. You didn't realize he’d be so… filthy. He doesn't usually talk this much, and his words make you light headed, gut twisting with heat.

His hands are back on your skin, fingers rubbing tight circles into your lower back, and your orgasm sneaks up on you so quickly that you nearly choke. All you can think about is his hands burning on your skin, tethering you to his body. You’ve never came so quickly before, and it's rarely ever this easy. You muffle your sobs into his shirt just the same, overwhelmed and buzzing with sensation.

He’s petting your hair, whispering things you're not lucid enough to understand. You can still feel his hardness against you, but he doesn't move to relieve it, just letting you come down with soft touches.

Your mouth is still slightly open, drool following you in a string when you pull back. He cups your face, and you nuzzle into the touch, blissed out.

Your hands travel down, cupping him between your bodies, and his hips jump. “You don't have to-” he starts, but you shush him, pulling up his shirt a bit, staring at the tan skin of his belly before his hands cover yours.

You look at him questioningly before he speaks. “No living thing has seen me without my armor in a long time, besides you. Without my clothes… even longer.” His thumb is stroking your skin, soothing you. 

“But, haven't you…” you trail off, blushing. After all the things he just said and did, you don’t think of him as such a puritan anymore. He shifts a little.

“I keep the armor on.” You’re not exactly turned on by the idea of him with other people, but the way he tells you sends a chill through your whole body. The “clothes on” thing is definitely something you’ll explore later, if there’s a later to be had. Right now, though...

You slip a cold hand under his shirt. His stomach muscles jump. “What if we just…” You twist around, fiddling with the panel for lights, and the compartment is flooded with darkness.

There’s an uncomfortable squishing in your underwear that you notice now, and you squirm a bit.

His moan is barely audible, a strangled sound as he rolls his hips, and your gut coils. That's not something you ever thought you'd ever hear out of him. Your fingers find the hem of his pants and pull down.

Though you'd love to see what you’re working with, the heaviness in your palm humbles you. He grips your thighs, no sound coming out of him.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you spit into it and take him in your hand again, pumping softly until he’s arching into you, fucking your fist greedily. He curses, and there's a loud clank as you imagine his head tilting back onto the wall. You rub your thumb over the tip, catching his precum, and he jerks violently.

Short pants are filtering through his modulator, and you briefly wonder what he'd sound like without the barrier.

His hands travel up, lifting your shirt and exposing your chest to the cool air. Two calloused fingers trace your nipple, drawing a heavy exhale out of you. You’re glad he can't see the embarrassing faces you're probably making. Suddenly Mando’s propping his legs up, sliding you closer to his body until your hand is trapped, and you can feel the heat of him radiating through your thin pants.

He pulls your shirt off completely, and again you're glad it’s dark so he can't see how flustered you are.

He palms your breasts, goosebumps forming all over. You’re not used to sex being this drawn out, or intense. He hasn’t even fucked you yet. Your experiences have always been quick, secretive: trying to get things done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Intimacy is a luxury you've never had time or want for, and you’re so glad Mando’s different.

His hands drift to your pants, and you lift your hips so he can pull them off you. You press your chest to his once they've been discarded, and he rubs his palms over your thighs. The helmet is not something you’re even going to bring up, despite the fact that you want to kiss him so badly it feels like you're being flayed alive. If he has a hard time being naked in front of you with the lights on, he probably isn't ready to go helmetless.

Speaking of that. “What was the point of me turning the lights off if you're not even going to get out of your clothes in the next millennium?” Nervousness has sharpened your tongue, and you can't help the snark. He huffs good naturedly, letting you undress him, unpinning his cape, pulling his trousers all the way down, taking the padding off his shirt and then removing it as well. It’s hard to do in the dark with a bucket on his head, but you manage it. The thought of him with nothing but the helmet on is a little comical, but also kind of hot for some reason. There’s something seriously wrong with you.

Your fingers trace every ridge, every curve of his skin, trying to create a mental image of the thing you've wanted for so long. It’s a familiar feeling, a little like drawing a map while blindfolded. You long to see him, to take in the sight of his naked flesh molded beneath your hands.

He’s hardly breathing, hands resting on your sides as you explore. You’re the only one left wearing underwear, and it’s noticeable, even in the pitch blackness. 

Fingers splayed over his chest, you marvel at the feel of him, little tufts of coarse hair tickling you. You slide your body until you’re rubbing against his length, and the only barrier between you is that scrap of cloth still covering your cunt.

There’s a slow ache building as you move against him, breathing deeply. You throb where you touch him, warmth spreading to the rest of your body while he holds on tight. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you lean forward to lick a broad stripe across his collarbone.

He huffs unsteadily before he pulls your underwear off, and the maneuvering of it is a little awkward. Once you’re naked though, he pulls you close to him again, letting your slick cover him where he’s hottest. You keen, teeth grazing his pulse, brow furrowing.

His hand comes up to the back of your head while the other slides around your waist, and this is already so much better than anything you could've ever imagined. 

“Almost lost you,” he mumbles, moving against you mindlessly. It sends a pang through your whole body. He hardly ever sounds _sad_ , and you know for a fact that it’s your fault.

You exhale shakily, kissing his shoulder apologetically. Bringing one hand between your bodies, you adjust until he’s notched against you. There’s a sharp intake of breath from the both of you before you sink down. You’re deep in concentration as your muscles bear down on him, and the only thing you can think is that maybe everything you've been through was worth it, if it led you to this. To him.

He’s shaking a little, but is otherwise completely silent as he fills you, and it reminds you of when you patched him up in the cockpit. Total restraint. That needs fixing. Your nails rake down his arms and he bottoms out in surprise, making you gasp. It feels... not full necessarily. More like whole. Complete.

“Easy _mesh’la,_ ” he groans into your neck. Now that the hardest part is over, he pushes his hips up into you experimentally.

Your heartbeat is in your throat as he does it, stretching you open with every thrust. It’s a luxurious pace, his fingers digging into your sides. He’s going to leave bruises, for sure.

“That’s my girl, so good. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he murmurs as he guides you, splitting you open. 

You're breathless, face burning. “You’re the only one I want to do this to,” you confess, the words tumbling out of you. If you weren’t being speared by him in the dark right now, you’d probably never be able to say that to his face.

He picks up the pace a little, but still goes torturously slow. “Only me?”

Your breath stutters, nodding even though he can't see it. “You, just you.” He grips you tighter, fingers digging in.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” The desperation in his voice is punctuated by a rough thrust, and you hiccup. 

“I’m sorry Mando, Mando, please,” you beg quietly, though you're not exactly sure for what. You're not really thinking straight.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and you whisper an affirmative. His hands on you feel like fire, the best kind. You never, ever want him to stop touching you if he makes you feel like this; simultaneously tightly wound and completely unraveled. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he rasps, and the words go straight to your pussy. It’s as if he read your mind.

“Me too. Missed you. Shouldn't have left,” you say quietly, squeezing around him, and his breath stutters. 

“When you were gone, all I thought about was finding you and showing you that I, I-” he says, choking as you start moving faster. “Should’ve found you sooner. There’s so much I should’ve told you,” he gasps, adjusting until he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“It's okay- tell me now, tell me later, I’m here, fuck-”

“ _Mesh’la, kar’ta,_ all mine, perfect little pussy for me to cum in,” he rambles, and your eyes squeeze shut as you inexplicably orgasm a second time. It’s just as unexpected as the first, and you're pitched forward while he fucks you through it, a little worried you’re about to have a heart attack. You could just die. You could die like this and you'd be happy.

“Cum in me, Mando, please,” you murmur through the haze of your orgasm, and the words surprise you. You've never asked anyone to do that before.

He groans raggedly while you lavish attention on his neck with your tongue, then tenses and does as you ask, warmth pooling in your belly. His hips grind against yours until he’s spent, drawing back and resting his helmet against your forehead. He’s breathing heavily, and you can feel his chest rise and fall under your hands. 

“That… was… unexpected,” you say, out of breath. He still hasn't pulled out. You can feel the fluid leaking a bit, and it makes you shiver.

His hands are rubbing your sides, and you're still cold, despite everything that just happened. “Pretty girl,” he remarks quietly.

“I like you like this. You’re very complimentary,” you tease, smiling, imagining he’s smiling back at you under his helmet. Then you freeze. “Wait. You can see in the dark. The helmet.”

He stops his movements, then abruptly lifts you off of him. You make an involuntary little noise as he pulls out before you come to your senses, then slap his arm. “That's not fair!”

He grabs your wrist, pulling you to his chest, and even though you feel a little cheated, the contact is euphoric. You look into where his visor probably is, knowing now that he saw you naked the whole time, saw the embarrassing faces you make when he touches you. You grumble a little until he strokes your hair with his other hand, indignation fizzling out, replaced with something else. Awareness.

You and Mando just had sex.

“We just had sex,” you tell him. He laughs, a quiet sound, and you feel warm. You were worried you wouldn't get to hear it again. 

Sighing, you rest your head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. Happy to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE SHAWTY!!!!!!! Not really a surprise, but. I hope you guys liked it???? And that it was okay????? I added five more chapters to the chapter count so I could include more spice along with the plot. All comments and interactions on my tumblr are appreciated!!


	12. Cornered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking some time to talk.
> 
> Content Warning: Vaginal fingering sis. Get into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

Mando watches in awe as you levitate the ration bar.

At least, you’re assuming that’s what it is. While you were always pretty good at reading his body language, your ability to sense his moods is more obvious now that you have full use of the Force. 

He put clothes on a long time ago, and now he’s just. Calm. Letting you rest your head on his chest again, knees knocking into each other. It’s like you basically had the weirdest make up sex in the galaxy and now he’s just completely fine with the fact that you walked out on him and the baby. 

He keeps giving you odd bits and bobs to mess around with while you talk. You’ve told him everything about your mother and John Jakar, and now you’re explaining the dream with Moff Gideon, fiddling with the edge of the metallic wrapper when it floats back into your hands.

“I didn’t know that beskar was so strong,” you say absentmindedly.

“It’s beskar.” Mando says it like you could’ve known it was laser sword repellent. He just pulls you closer to him when you give him an annoyed look, invading all your personal space again. Turning back to your fidgeting, you beam with happiness, privately pleased that he’s being so free with his touches. Ever since you slept together (in the non-literal way) he hasn’t kept his hands off you. 

“Yeah, so… I don’t know, after all the other dreams I had, I was just convinced that if I stayed…” He presses his helmet to the back of your head, and you sigh. “It was stupid.”

“Not stupid. Misguided, maybe.” You elbow him, ripping open the ration bar and taking a dry bite. 

“So, how’d you find me, anyway? On Koiogra 5.” You hand him a chunk of the tasteless solid, heartbeat quickening when you feel him hesitate, then gently lift the bottom of his helmet, chewing noiselessly.

“The pilot,” he says after swallowing. “I went into town, following your tracks. Didn’t have to go far, just past the cantina. They were bragging about leaving you with a tracker for the Imps. Collecting your bounty.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny metallic object that you stare at blankly.

He gives it to you, and you place the rest of the ration bar on your stomach, studying the tracker. It’s small, not much weight to it, but you still have a hard time believing you didn't clock it. It’s shiny as anything. So simple.

“I pulled it off your clothes when I got you back. It’s been deactivated.” You had noticed in passing that your vest was gone, but didn’t fully register its absence until now.

Simmering anger is bubbling inside you as you stare at the metal circle floating above your fingertips. You’re trying to think of when the pilot could have possibly gotten it on you, when you remember them placing a gentle hand on your back to help you onto their ship. It was weird, but you didn't think twice about it at the time, too focused on evading Mando. Idiot. You want to crush the tracker in your fist. Throw it on the floor and stomp it into a million tiny shards. You want to find that pilot and-

“-Some sort of cloaking. It was hard to spot, _cyar’e._ I could only see it with my sensor.” You snap out of it, the tiny metal disk plopping next to the open wrapper. Is he trying to make you feel better right now? 

“It’s fine, boss. Shouldn't have trusted that bantha sniffer anyway.” You tilt your head, levitating the shiny objects to dance around each other, trying to fixate on inner peace instead of the violent rage that's threatening to overwhelm you.

Mando’s quiet, and you can sense a soft affection rolling off of him in waves. It makes no sense, but you don’t know how to bring up the fact that he should probably be mad at you without being annoying about it. 

“After Koiogra 5…” He squeezes you again. “I found some… friends. People to help me find you.” 

You remember your vision from the brig. “Migs Mayfeld?”

He doesn’t ask how you know who that is. “Among others. Bo-Katan was one.”

You clear your throat. “The angry lady.” 

He nods. “Her aim is to reclaim Mandalore, her home planet. She’s dangerous, but useful. When I was assembling everyone, she told me the location of a Jedi. I was hoping she'd join us on the rescue mission.” 

You freeze. “A Jedi? You found a Jedi?”

“On Corvus. It was… a longer detour than I expected, and I couldn't convince her to come with us. I’m sorry,” he says.

You scoff quietly. How can _he_ be the one apologizing to _you?_ You know he… cares about you, but this is a little ridiculous.

“What?” he asks.

“You keep… apologizing to me. I’m the one who left. I’m the one who should be sorry.” You play with the metallic wrapper, ripping it into ribbons. He doesn't say anything, but releases his tight grip on you. It makes you deflate a little.

“The Jedi said… that the child has a strong attachment to you. To the both of us. He needs you. He’s not- When I watched you surrender, go with Moff Gideon in shackles...” He plays with a strand of your hair. “You don't need to apologize,” he says after a beat.

What is he even trying to say right now? That he needs you too? That that overrules your idiotic mistakes? You shouldn’t be allowed to get off this easy. His fingers brush your neck, feather-light, and your heart skips a beat. Still, you’re you, and the questions you have take precedence over whatever tenderhearted admission he’s trying to make.

“The Jedi. Could I meet her?” He shifts uncomfortably.

“She has her own business to take care of. There is another Jedi who wants to meet you, though.” He says this like you’re discussing meeting up with Greef Karga to get another round of bounty pucks.

Your head swivels, and you gape at him. “ _Another Jedi?_ Aren’t they supposed to be extinct? How do they keep popping up everywhere?” 

“It was the guy on the X-Wing. He stopped the dark troopers, but that was after you fainted.” You slap his arm.

“I did not faint. I was having a very important and mystical Force dream.”

“You fainted, _cyar’e._ ” Then Mando hesitates, like he doesn't know how to say what comes next. “He wants to take the child, to train him. Help him control his powers.”

You suddenly feel cold, your lightheartedness draining away. Take the child?

“Oh,” you say quietly. Mando brushes hair out of your face, and you can feel his trepidation. His own quiet despair at the idea of your family being broken up again.

“I told him we need time to think about it. More time with the child. I left him with a bounty hunter named Boba Fett.”

You try not to sound alarmed. “A bounty hunter? That's the ‘friend’ you thought would- what?”

“He’s trustworthy.”

Now you can't help the exasperated expression that makes its way onto your face.

“He sort of… owes me a debt. Remember Cobb Vanth?” How could you forget? You feel your cheeks get warm, and start picking at invisible lint on Mando’s shirt so he doesn't notice your reaction to the mention of the sheriff. He couldn’t hold a candle to the feelings you have for Mando now, but that doesn’t change the fact that Cobb Vanth is still a very attractive man.

Mos Pelgo was one of the first places you went with Mando. Back then, Cobb’s easygoing charm made you blush as hard as Mando did. That was when your feelings for him were new, only just budding, and Cobb took care of you and the kid while Mando went on his hunt. He showed you around Mos Pelgo with a twangy demeanor that left you pleasantly flustered. You used to imagine Mando was a little jealous of the Marshal’s attention when he got back, but it was probably just wishful thinking.

“He gave me his Mandalorian armor the first time I came into town. I kept it on the ship.” You remember it now, the chipped green thing stuffed into a corner.

“He just gave it to you?” you ask.

“I killed a krayt dragon that was giving him some trouble.” Now you frown, sure he must be messing with you. A fucking _krayt dragon?_ You’re not one to doubt Mando’s abilities, but even this seems like a lot. You can imagine him fighting the behemoth, helmet glinting in the sunlight as he slays the beast, saving the town.

You’re getting distracted.

“What does any of this have to do with Borba Fett?” you ask.

“It’s Boba. And the armor belonged to his father, so he wanted it back. Cornered me. Got the kid captured by some stormtroopers that had been tracking us. Got him back, then helped rescue you to make up for it.” He relays the info like it’s no big deal, but your heart seizes.

Wow. So Mando had lost both you and the child at some point. You try not to imagine it, the idea of having them ripped away from you, one after the other. It’s gut wrenching, and you literally left on purpose. The guilt just keeps piling on.

You face him, smiling a little apologetically. “So… Lost a Jedi, gained a bounty hunter?” 

Mando shrugs. “When you think about it, I gained a Jedi too.” He ruffles your hair, and it’s so sardonically sweet that you hit him again. 

“Hey, don’t get any ideas. I just got the hang of lifting things, I’m not about to resurrect a cult of humorless virginal warriors anytime soon. I’ve already got you.” Oh no. You can’t see his face, but you can practically _feel_ the eyebrow raise. 

Mando rolls over, maneuvering until you're on your back and he’s semi-hovering over you at your side. The knick knacks laying on your stomach fall away, instantly forgotten. Breath quickening, you’re fighting a smile that he’d surely take as antagonizing if you let your face crack.

“Virginal is a pretty strong word for someone who was begging me to cum in her a few hours ago.” His hand is caging you against the wall, and you’re quietly hyperventilating, trying not to let him see how deeply that comment is affecting you.

“You could barely touch me after months of knowing each other,” you point out. His helmet lowers to the crook of your neck while his hand rests on the soft flesh of your stomach, right above your underwear.

“Is that why you left? You wanted a little attention? Hm?” The reverb of his words in your ear is making you squirm, an electric jolt traveling down your spine. Mando’s got you cornered, trapped by his body and his soothing baritone. He teases along the edge of the fabric, and your breath catches. “I wanted to, you know,” his voice lowers. “Touch you. All the time. You’re just so… difficult.” Your head tilts back, and you gaze into his visor, smiles gone, just desperate for whatever he’ll give you. Your legs open, and oh, he notices, helmet inclining towards the motion almost microscopically. You practically throb with want.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper. “Promise, boss.” He lets out a long, measured exhale before he’s finally right where you want him, fingers gliding through your wetness. Your eyes squeeze shut as you buck a little, whining softly. 

“I want to be the only one who makes you like this. Don’t think I didn’t see you perk up when I mentioned Cobb Vanth.” He slides a thick finger inside of you unexpectedly and you spasm, trying desperately hard to be quiet.

Your bottom lip is already tender from how much you pick at the skin there on a regular basis, but your teeth grind into it anyway while he has his way with you. “Knew you were jealous,” you huff, lips parting softly.

He scoffs and curls his fingers, practically making you double over.

“Pretty girl, I thought you were going to be good for me,” he admonishes, admiring the burning of your cheeks. Probably can’t pick that up too well in the dark, even with the helmet.

“I will, I’m sorry Mando-” He chuckles quietly, and your mouth clamps shut.

“There she is.” His fingers retreat, circling your clit, and your eyes roll back.

“ _Please,_ dear Maker- _wow_.” Whatever he’s doing, it’s working quickly. You know you’re making those stupid pinched faces again, but you don’t even care. Your whole lower body is tingling, and if he stops touching you right now, you will die. Every muscle in your body tenses, and even though you can count the amount of times he’s made you cum on one hand, they’re already the most memorable orgasms you’ve ever had.

Your forehead is damp and your chest is still heaving when you finally begin to calm down. “How do you do that so well, you stupid bastard?” you ask tiredly. For some reason, your post-orgasm brain has decided it can only process insults right now. Mando retracts his hand from your damp underwear and turns away.

“Hey, what are you-” You’re too bone-weary to investigate what exactly he’s doing, but it isn’t hard to guess. His helmet is just slightly out of place from behind, and you can’t see a thing, but when he returns to you, his fingers are clean.

You wrinkle your nose. “That’s disgusting.” Also sort of hot, but whatever. Details. He wipes his hand on your shirt and you shout indignantly.

“You’re always so cranky after,” he grumbles. You reach for him, pulling him on top of you and clinging tightly. He’s heavy, breath squeezed out of your body, but you don’t mind.

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to make it better?” You press your hips flush against his, where he’s very obviously interested in what you’re offering. 

“We should be close to Nevarro by now,” he says, without any real conviction behind it. You press your lips to the sliver of skin exposed at his neck, and he shivers visibly.

“So, we’ll be quick.” His hand is digging into your side, and you grab it, bringing it to your lips and making sure he can see you suck his fingers into your mouth.

Needless to say, it isn’t quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha hey there late update. I'm kinda having a small writers block, and I didn't love writing this chapter, but I'm glad I was able to get it done. I'm starting to restructure the fic based on the extra chapters I tacked on, but I might have some late updates because my job at school is starting back up again. As always, comments are appreciated, etc. etc.


	13. Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another problem to solve.
> 
> Content Warning: Ohh nothing unless you don't like KISSING >:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

When next you walk off the Razor Crest, it’s with wobbly legs and a pleasant ache between your hip bones. All of your fantasies surrounding sex with Mando didn’t involve stumbling into the dry heat while he came up from behind to steady you as you stepped off the ramp. It’s nice, his attentiveness. Almost... domestic.

Straightened up with all your clothes back on, you adjust to the weight of your utility belt as you walk, the darksaber now clipped at your side. It’s weird to think of it as belonging to you. Are you allowed? That whole thing with Bo-Katan was really tense, but now you realize she's not here to glare you to death if you decide to wield it.

Experimentally, you unclip the darksaber and ignite it, giving it a twirl. It’s lightweight, crackling with volatile energy, altogether a considerably less terrifying weapon when you’re not staring down its business end. Mando glances over at you messing around with the monumentally important laser sword, shaking his head at the whooshing noises you make with your mouth to imitate it.

“Careful with that. It makes you the rightful ruler of Mandalore. Wouldn't wanna break it,” he says, footfalls deadly silent next to your clunky tread.

“Or amputate myself,” you remark, not even acknowledging the “ruler of Mandalore” comment. You’re going to not think about that for as long as you possibly can. Just enjoy the laser sword. You do an X-shaped spin around both sides of your body, surprised at how easy the motions feel. Like second nature. 

“Why does Bo-Katan even want to rule Mandalore? Isn't it basically uninhabitable?” You ask when you’re done karking around, sheathing the saber and spinning the hilt in your hand before reclipping it.

He shrugs. “The domes seem to work for the most part. But I don’t think her people took too kindly to being exiled from their home planet.”

You’re quiet, noticing the beginnings of town in the distance. Mando parked the Razor Crest much farther than he usually does, and you can see several ships scattered in front of the entrance to the city. You’re watching them grow bigger when something clicks in your head.

“You’re not from Mandalore,” you say aloud. It seems obvious now, but it wasn’t something that would ever occur to you in the past. In your reclaimed memories, you’ve still only ever met one Mandalorian, and you assumed all of them were just the same as him. Strong, swift. Deadly. No reason to dwell on whether they’re all from the same planet or not.

He nods. “I was a foundling. Taken in by order of Creed.”

The sun is burning on the back of your neck, and you momentarily wish you had the coverings he does, even though he’s probably sweating up his own ecosystem. You fan yourself dramatically, contemplating.

“So… you probably don't know much about the politics on Mandalore then?” you ask, wiping the sweat from your forehead and trying not to sound put out. While you don't expect Mando of all people to be knowledgeable in that area, it would've been nice if at least one of you had some idea of what you're facing.

Mando’s silent for so long that you almost worry he isn't going to speak at all before you reach town, when he finally says, “That planet is cursed. Anyone who goes there dies." A pause. Well, that sounds promising. "Bo-Katan will stop at nothing to achieve her goals. I’ve seen it. And I would be careful _mesh’la,_ not to make any careless mistakes again.”

There it is. The admonishment you've been looking for. It stings a bit, of course, but really you deserve worse. Nodding, you inspect the chipped paint job on one of the ships as you pass by.

Greef Karga and Cara Dune are already waiting outside the cantina, the child’s pram stationed alongside them, open to showcase the little green monster. Your heart rate speeds up at the sight of him, bundled in his burlap sack.

Your friends nod at you, seeming... different. Closed off. You can see it in their body language, sense it in the air. They’re not thrilled by your presence for some reason, and you feel a little hurt but don’t let it show. They deserve nothing but your gratitude, even if they resent you now. This is good. _Someone_ needs to be properly mad at you, if Mando refuses to be.

You smile, walking up to the baby and reaching out with the Force, surprising him. The last time he saw you, you weren't nearly this aware of yourself. He coos in delight, and your heart soars. At least one person's happy to see you.

Cara and Karga sort of shuffle off to the side to speak with Mando, and you pick the child up from the pram, stroking his ears as he emits a short purr. He reaches for your face, placing a tiny clawed hand on your cheek as your eyes close.

“Hi. I’m sorry I was gone so long,” you murmur, and he coos. He can feel the conflict inside you, a quiet storm that’s been raging unchecked. Sadness. Elation. Guilt. Exhaustion. It’s all assuaged by his tiny touch. You were so sure you would never see him again, and here he is, small and infinite in his forgiveness. You quickly glance over at his dad, who’s already looking over at the two of you discreetly, checking on you. There’s a swelling in your chest, and you know that you don’t deserve them. You just don’t.

Turning back to the child, he gurgles. He missed you. It occurs to you in this moment that he’ll likely outlive you by potential centuries, but you will never stop caring for him as your own. Will protect him no matter what. Will never leave him again. The kid is special, that’s never been in doubt, but despite the mysterious nature of his strength in the Force, he brings out strong maternal feelings in you. Feelings you never thought you were capable of having.

“Do I want kids?” you ask out loud in surprise, and he giggles. Though your hands are already full with the one, the idea is sort of appealing. Mando is still deep in conversation, but you take in his stance, body turned toward you and the kid, hyper aware of your positioning. He’s a good dad, and he’s also the only one you want to parent with if that’s what’s in your future. If you asked him what he thought of having more kids, what would he say?

“What do you think? Do you want a little sibling?” you ask the child, and sense his curiosity at how that would be achieved. Time to change the subject.

“I heard you got into a little adventure while I was away,” you say quickly. He projects an image into your mind, the face of a female Togruta bathed in firelight, smiling sadly. This wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Then, he projects a name. Ahsoka. Ahsoka? 

Oh. It’s the Jedi that Mando was telling you about. You study her in your mind's eye, memorizing her sharp, pretty features before they fade away. He plays a memory for you, and you can hear Ahsoka telling Mando something. The child’s name.

“Grogu,” you murmur curiously after your ears pop, and he snuffles. Strange name. Fit for a strange creature.

“Well, at least now I have something to call you other than ‘The Child.’ It was getting hard to come up with different things to call you when I tell people what a troublemaker you are,” you tell him, smiling. You notice the others have gone quiet, their conversation stalling.

When you peek up, they’re already staring at you. “Everything alright?”

Karga clears his throat, and your heart sinks when you realize he won’t look you in the eyes.

“Of course, me and Cara just have some business to attend to. Always nice to see you two,” he says stiffly. Your smile is pained, but it stays plastered on as Cara nods, and they make their exit. Mando walks over and puts an arm around your shoulder, gently leading you in the opposite direction, back to the Crest. Back home.

“Didn’t _seem_ nice,” you mutter, and Grogu flicks his gaze up at you, humming softly. Mando’s silent.

You shuffle along to the ship, empty cradle floating behind you as the kid rests in your arms. Whoever had him while Mando dealt with you must have entertained him thoroughly, because he’s obviously dead tired. Grogu’s eyes slip shut, and he’s fast asleep before you’re halfway home.  
__

Sitting in the cockpit again with Mando feels like a luxury. Grogu is still sleeping, and you set him down in his hammock before you follow his dad up the ladder. The stars flying past your eyes are like freedom, the drone of hyperspace music to your ears. It’s weird how things feel the same as they did before you left, when they really couldn’t be more different. You sink back into the uncomfortable co-pilot’s chair, for the first time glad you’ve left Nevarro’s atmosphere.

“Karga gave you new bounties?” you ask, and Mando nods. There’s something else. It doesn’t feel tense exactly, but you can tell something’s bothering him. Something he’d rather keep from you. That won’t do. You stand and perch yourself across his thighs, enjoying the way his hands automatically come up to cradle you, breath catching in surprise. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask pointedly. 

He exhales tiredly. “Nothing gets past you, pretty girl.” You put an arm around his shoulders and press your forehead to the side of his helmet. 

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. “Not anymore. Magic powers and all that. So are you gonna tell me, tin man?” He’s quiet, and you start to worry that maybe you overstepped. Your fingers trace the outline of his cuirass while you attempt to tamp down your anxiety. Your obsessive need to know what’s going on at all times is getting in your way again, but you figure that at this point you might as well embrace it. Doesn’t seem like it’s going away anytime soon.

“It’s Bo-Katan,” he says finally. You roll your eyes. Another colossal problem to deal with, but it’s nothing you weren’t expecting. You had just hoped you’d have a little more time to savor your family reunion before you were torn apart by crazy bantha shit again.

“Let me guess. She has a bounty out for me?” You laugh a little, but he’s quiet for too long and you freeze. “Does she?”

“No, _cyar’ika._ You’re with me. She won’t touch you.” You relax, but he hesitates. “She’s just… mad.”

Shrugging off bad news as usual, you try to sound nonchalant. “Well, yeah. We already knew that.”

Mando shifts, and you suddenly worry that you’re too heavy to be sitting in his lap and he’s just too polite to say anything. “Bo-Katan is unpredictable. They’re worried about what her next move will be with you in possession of the darksaber.” 

“Cara and Karga?” He nods. No wonder they were being so weird. They probably have a lot to deal with in the aftermath of the rescue, and you being in contest with a warrior like Bo-Katan cannot make matters easier for them. If you hadn’t lived through the past week yourself, you would’ve thought someone had died, the way they were acting outside the cantina. Your predicament is probably the next best thing.

“Like you said, I’m with you. She won’t do anything unless she wants an ass-whooping.” You know that in the grand scheme of things, this probably isn’t true, but you’re nothing if not an everlasting bluffer.

Mando tucks an errant hair behind your ear. “She's a Mandalorian, with nothing to lose by challenging you. I’m just one person. You have too much confidence in me, _mesh’la._ ” The endearment makes your heart skip a beat, even if you still don’t know what he’s calling you.

“I have just the right amount of confidence,” you purr, nuzzling into the cloth on his neck. Inhaling deeply, you relish his scent. Sweet and musky, with the tang of sweat. You would drown in him if you could.

He hums, pulling you closer. You hide away in his body, vibrating with contentment. However your friends feel about you now, worried or upset or whatever, you still have Mando and Grogu. They at least still want you around, for whatever insane reason. They’ve still forgiven you.

“What did Cara end up doing with Gideon?” you ask, muffled by his cloak. He shrugs.

“Didn’t ask. Probably turned him into the New Republic. Bottom line is, he can’t hurt you anymore.” You feel warm at his statement, toying with any loose fabric you can get your hands on.

“Whoever made Cara a Marshal must be really patting themselves on the back for that hire, huh?” He chuckles, rubbing your upper arm until you get goosebumps. You bite your bottom lip, picking at the chapped skin between your teeth. Your fingers crawl up until you can pull down the fabric hiding his beautiful neck, lips grazing the skin there.

“ _Cyar’e,_ ” he murmurs. His hand covers your thigh, squeezing it, and you shiver.

Pulling away from the magnificent stubble dusting his throat, you ask, “Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” Mando hesitates, and you pinch him after he’s taken too long to answer.

“I could always just show you.” His voice is lusty, gloved hand traveling upward, but you stop him with a sly smile. Seduction isn’t going to get him out of this one. Not if you can help it.

“Tempting. I’d like to know what it means, boss. In Basic, please.” You’re starting to understand what he likes to hear, if the way his grip on you tightens is any indicator.

“I’m sure you can guess,” he mumbles, and you suddenly realize he’s being bashful. His pulse is racing, and the idea of someone as inconsequential as you making a Mandalorian nervous makes you heady with affection. You have such deep, infinite fondness for him, and he doesn’t even know.

“Aw, gee Mando, are you blushing under there?” you tease, fingers grazing the side of his neck and climbing towards his helmet. His hand comes up to stop you, and you startle a little. The sudden shift in mood is palpable. You could cut the tension with a vibro. You didn’t mean anything by the miniscule action, but now you can see what it looks like you were trying to do. Before you can explain yourself, Mando speaks.

“Close your eyes.” Um, okay. Interesting. You obey, heart stopping completely when he guides you to the edge of his helmet, fingers brushing the cool metal. He helps you find the release, the soft hiss nearly inaudible, not unlike your breathing right now.

When his exhalation grazes your cheek, you feel… honored, above all the thousands of other emotions you’re feeling right now. He leans into you, releasing your hand so he can tilt your chin towards him, mouth brushing yours feather-light. Yeah, you’re not breathing anymore. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his dry lips pressing chastely to yours, facial hair brushing your skin as you struggle not to start hyperventilating. This is somehow more intimate and tender than all the other things you’ve shared in the past few days. It’s like touching him in the dark compartment, another mental map for you to commit to memory and explore during idle moments.

Unfortunately, it’s short, the kiss. Way too short. It’s like as soon as it’s happened it’s over, his helmet falling back into place. You want more, but can’t even begin to even think about articulating your desires, rendered speechless. He’s still cradling your face, thumb rubbing over your skin affectionately. 

“That’s what it means,” he says, and you don’t ask for more explanations after that. That’s all the explanation you'll ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just... not super happy with how these chapters are turning out, but I think it's just that kind of week. Hopefully it passes soon, but writing that kissing scene was really nice. I luv kisses. Anyway I also love comments and I read and cherish every single one! Oh also here's the link to my Mando playlist again if anyone wanted to check it out!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0cxvA9mWpd3UZtWCzgNfTp?si=MEFRiLSzQwWBJ_5enUHDqw


	14. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember where you belong.
> 
> Content Warning: Uh just some sexually suggestive stuff I guess? More kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @meowthist on tumblr

Though Mando half-heartedly protests at first, you eventually convince him to keep your nest of blankets in his cramped bunk. It feels a little like a move-in, even though you’ve lived on the Razor Crest with him for ages. You’re already basically roommates in every sense, but this feels more permanent. When you cuddle up to him at the end of every day cycle, you think about how you never want to sleep anywhere else ever again.

You haven’t talked about the Jedi or Bo-Katan since you left Nevarro, too caught up in your little bubble. Grogu is only getting stronger, and as you pass his favorite metal ball back and forth with the Force, you feel a surge of pride wash over you. Mando’s sitting behind you, caging you in with his legs, resting his chin on the top of your head and watching the two of you with mute fascination. How could you ever be expected to give this up? Why would you ever want to? Grogu doesn’t need a teacher, you’ll teach him everything you know, you’ll-

Your determined thoughts are interrupted by a persistent beeping coming from the cockpit. 

“We’re here,” Mando mutters, rising to his feet. You deflate a little, following suit.

“Already?” you ask, trying not to sound as disappointed as you feel. It’s just been so nice, sleeping with him every night, fooling around when the baby’s napping. Finally getting to just _be_ with him. 

He cups your face in both hands. “Gotta pay for fuel somehow, _cyar’e._ ”

“And those fantastic rations,” you say half-sarcastically, wrapping your arms around his middle. He automatically returns the embrace, and you sigh, thinking of the kiss you shared for probably the millionth time today. You traced your lips with the pads of your fingertips for hours afterward when he wasn’t paying attention, commiting the feel of his lips on yours to memory.

“Go land the bird,” you finally say, standing on tiptoe to kiss his helmet dead center on the metal forehead, tilting him forward with your hands.

Gorgu coos, making grabby hands at you. You release his dad to pick him up, and when you do, you become aware of him staring at the two of you. His clan. It’s being projected so hard into the Force you’re surprised you aren’t knocked over by it.

He pats Grogu on the head before he passes you, ascending the ladder and disappearing out of sight. You stare after him, oddly filled with regret, but over what, you don’t know. It’s not like you didn’t take full advantage of your time together, but you still feel an ache.

The kid stares up at you, and you smile, melancholy. “Just us again.”  
__

The Force rules. It’s so much easier to entertain the baby now that you have something to do other than sing badly and tidy up with Grogu perched on your hip. He’s already a master at levitating the ball, although it’s the only object he wants to work with for now. You’ll need to work on that.

However, even your new outlets get old after a while, and you’re sitting in the cockpit with Grogu explaining the controls to him (as if he could ever fly a speeder, much less a modified military patrol craft) when an idea hits you. It’s raining outside the viewport, the world outside a streaky blur through the transparisteel.

Mando told you not to leave the Crest before he went on his hunt, which is understandable. That’s why you don’t actually _go anywhere,_ only lowering the ramp so you can show Grogu the rain. Technically you’re still with the ship, right?

The torrent is warm, falling in fat drops, and you hold a hand out to let it soak the skin of your palm. Grogu squeals when you let him down, splashing in the gargantuan puddles. You smile, following his lead, hair wet and clothes quickly soaked through. It’s like standing under the stream of the cramped fresher, but so much better. 

Keeping a watchful eye on Grogu, you strip your vest off, sending it flying into the hull with a flick of your wrist. You’re getting the hang of the Force, too. The sky is grey and overcast, and you bask in the downpour for a moment.

It reminds you of the ocean planet of your past, the rain. You can recall everything easily, but not in the traditional way. It’s as if someone told you the plot of a novel a long time ago, or you’re watching a holodrama. Those things happened to someone else. You can see yourself in every second you’ve spent with Mando and Grogu better than a moment of your adolescence.

Grogu finds a small, hopping creature to play with, and you rush over before he can end the poor thing’s life with one quick swallow. Fussing over him, you brush the mud off of his clothes before he smiles a toothless smile up at you. 

“Do you like the rain?” you ask cheekily, and he gurgles. You laugh, smoothing the wrinkles of his forehead with your thumb and carrying him back inside. You’re suddenly hit with the memory of your own mother doing this with you, carrying you in from the rain and changing your wet clothes, helping you dry off. 

Grogu senses the abruptly unbearable sadness weighing down on you and coos, reaching for your face. You sniffle a bit, but give him what he wants, his claws scritching your cheek.

He shows you a vision of Mando in a dimly lit room, an IG unit opposing him before he guns it down. He stares down at you/Grogu, reaching a finger out curiously. It’s the first time they met, when Mando came to collect his bounty but decided to save him instead. You know the story well. It was one of the first things Mando told you when you got better acquainted with each other. It was one of the first things that convinced you to trust him.

 _New family,_ you sense, and now you’re really crying. They’re less physical words and more strong feelings, but you appreciate the sentiment all the same. You hug him closer to you, so happy that you found each other, that you have this incredibly rare, special connection.

You’re not going to give him up without a fight.  
__

You have exactly two books on the Crest that you’ve read about… 800 times? Each? You’re not exactly afforded the luxury of a holopad in your line of work, and again, there hasn’t been much in the way of entertainment for the past few months you’ve lived here. You’re reading the second one you own, a series of poems about the galaxy that Mando bought you a while ago on some swanky Core planet, when the hatch releases and he stumbles in.

Stumbling isn’t his style, but this quarry is _huge,_ and you’re mildly impressed he managed to get it back by himself, despite knowing everything you know about him. The man’s unconscious body barely fits in the carbonite chamber, and you sit mutely, book lying open in your lap while he slams on the button to flash-freeze the poor sod.

He inclines his helmet towards you, and you smile a little awkwardly. “Hey stranger.”

He stands a little straighter in acknowledgement, hip jutting out, and you stifle a snort. Mando’s posture usually fluctuates somewhere between suave and goofy, and you’re sure he’s not aware of it in any capacity. Right now it’s more of the latter.

“Hey,” he grunts, and is he trying to sound… sexy? Your grin grows wider as he shuffles a little self-consciously.

“You were gone a long time,” you say slowly, closing your book and setting it aside. Even though you find his attempts at being discrete borderline humorous, you missed him too.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles. “Had my hands full.” He gestures at the now frozen slab of a bounty. You nod.

“I could tell. Nice job, boss.” He sidles over to you, and you try to keep the sparkle out of your eye. This is new territory. Whenever he’s come back from a hunt before, he usually worked in relative silence, asking how the baby was, returning to the cockpit to get you off-planet as quickly as possible.

Now, though, you’re free to talk, tell him how much you missed him. To complain, even, about the boredom you face whenever he leaves. Not that you would. Although you are sort of wondering why he didn’t offer for you to tag along like he usually has the past few hunts.

His gloved hand tilts your chin up, as if you weren’t already looking at him. Your heartbeat stutters, and _again_ you’re thinking about that stupid kiss, wishing he would do it again. More than anything, you wish he would, but you get the feeling he only did it that time to avoid opening up to you in a way he wasn’t ready for yet. 

He told you a while ago, in passing, why he doesn’t take off his helmet. Explained the Creed while you listened attentively with the child bouncing on your lap, and even then you recognized the quiet reverence in his voice. It was the most important thing in the galaxy to him.

Maybe that priority has shifted if he’s finding loopholes so he can kiss you, but you’re probably getting ahead of yourself. You remember that the baby is sleeping soundly in the bunk, and you shush Mando when he accidentally kicks the crate you’re sitting cross-legged on.

“Don’t wake him,” you whisper, inclining your head towards the tiny hammock. For someone who’s usually so stealthy, you swear Mando rattles every piece of metal hanging off his body as he kneels in front of you.

His hands cover your thighs, and he rubs them up and down while he talks. “How was he?” he asks. The contact is less sexual and more soothing when you rest a hand on his helmet, smiling when he sort of… nuzzles into the touch.

“Good. We splashed about in the rain a little,” you admit sheepishly. He hums disapprovingly, and you imagine his helmet gone, dark hair falling in waves underneath your fingers as he makes the low sound. You know he has facial hair that he keeps (surprisingly) well-trimmed, and that he has (equally surprisingly) soft lips, but that’s as far as your real-world knowledge extends.

“We need to be careful, _mesh’la,_ ” he says, digging a thumb into the side of your knee. “You’re a target now.”

You snort softly. “Haven’t I always been?” Mando tilts his helmet, and you silently acknowledge that it’s more serious now than it was before Moff Gideon, but still. “Is that why you didn’t take me with you on the hunt?” you ask quietly.

He huffs. “It’s not like that. Didn’t want you to have to deal with this ugly nerf herder.” Mando gestures vaguely in the direction of the carbonite with his head, and you smile again. He’s picking up Cara’s Alderaanisms.

“I’m sure he’s not much worse than you are under the bucket,” you tease, nudging it gently. He rises and hovers at your height, forcing you to lean backwards until your back is resting on the top of another crate; a makeshift cot.

The cool beskar of his helmet kisses the skin of your neck, and you shiver. He crawls onto the crates with you, forcing you to open your legs to accommodate his body. You stare up at the ceiling of the hull while your arms wrap around him, barely meeting over his cape. You’re probably never going to get used to him doing things like this, casually invading your personal space in the most unexpected ways.

“What do you think I look like?” he asks quietly. You swallow hard. What does he even want you to say? This topic has always felt off-limits, even though there’s a million different responses swirling around your brain at all times. Your instinct is to start joking, but you get the feeling he wants a serious answer.

You exhale. “You’re probably late thirties, early forties. That means you should have crows feet, or you’re starting to at least.” This assessment is decidedly unsexy, but he hangs onto your every word. “I know you’re scruffy, based on the other day,” you whisper, and it’s the first time either of you has acknowledged him kissing you. You skate a hand over his back, obstructed from touching him fully by his heavy armor. “The hair on your arms is dark, so I’m guessing it’s the same on your head. Probably… brown eyes? Or green. I’d guess they’re really expressive, even though no one can see them.”

There’s more, so much more, but you’re flushed, embarrassment creeping in. You’ve speculated about it so many times, but you don’t want to let on. It’s weird that you’re shy telling him things you were literally thinking about two minutes ago.

“Do you want to see them? My eyes?” he asks, almost nonchalantly. It steals the breath from your lungs. _Do you want to see them?_ Of course you do. There’s just one problem, something you’re going to take to your grave if you can. 

You’re almost completely certain you’re not worthy.

If he’s going to break his Creed, he should do it for someone who actually deserves it, not someone whose past was completely unknown until last week, someone who skipped out on him and his son when things got tough. 

No, you don’t want to see them, but only because you know he’s making a mistake by offering right now. Whatever’s been happening between you is so far beyond what you thought the universe would ever afford you, but it’s only just started. Who knows what’s going to happen from here on?

When you’ve been silent for too long, he says, “I can feel you overthinking.”

You fumble, trying to come up with reasons to decline without hurting his feelings. “I mean, it’s just- you can take it off for anyone?”

He clears his throat. “Not just anyone. Family.” Your eyes close, and you know you’re totally, completely fucked.

“Is that what I am? Family?” He’s the second person to tell you that today. You’ve always kind of known he felt that way whether you were aware of it or not, but you’ve never heard him say it out loud. You feel his nod, and tears spring up in the corners of your eyes.

“I… don’t know if I’m ready,” you admit. “It used to be all I wanted, funny enough. But now… everything’s sort of different, isn’t it?” He’s quiet, and you’re worried you’re saying all the wrong things. You lick your lips. “It’s just… what if you show me, and then we have to deal with all the crazy ridiculous kark that I started, and you- what if you regret it?” Now you’ve said it. No taking it back.

“I could never regret you,” he murmurs, and it knocks the wind out of you. You will never understand how someone who used to be so quiet can consistently find the perfect words to tell you everything you want to hear. You suck your lips between your teeth, blood pounding in your ears. 

You really hate yourself right now. Despite how vulnerable he’s being, despite how much this admission means to you, you don’t believe him.

Mando sits up and you look up into his visor, wide-eyed and uncertain. Your cheeks are pink and he traces his thumb over the flush, contemplating. When he moves to activate the release under his jaw, your eyes squeeze shut at the hiss. You don’t need the Force to sense his disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. He leans down, ghosting his pouty lips over your own. The cold metal of his half-on helmet skims your nose. You surge into him, wanting more than anything to kiss him again, a real kiss this time.

His tongue traces your bottom lip, and you practically melt into the crate, a full-body blush overwhelming you. His elbow is propped next to your head as he uses one hand to keep his helmet firmly in place. 

“I thought Creed was the most important thing to you,” you say breathlessly against his mouth. His nose nudges yours. Anxiety is twisting deep in your stomach, but you ignore it in favor of bringing a hand up to his neck, desperate to feel the short waves of his hair under your fingers.

You break apart, chest heaving and breaths coming in muffled gasps. He gives you another peck before he speaks. “That was before I almost lost you.” You’re so torn by his words that you almost don’t catch how different he sounds without the modulator. Not much different, granted, but it’s the first time you’ve heard him without it. He sounds softer, less grating.

You kiss him again, nuzzling into him. Devastatingly wet, it’s just occurring to you that you should probably do something about it when Grogu wakes up with a wail that pierces the comfortable quiet of the hull.

Mando jumps off of you, helmet falling back into place before you rush over to Grogu's compartment, both of you reacting to your instinct to check on him.

You scoop the little green goblin up, fat tears leaking from his enormous eyes, soaking into the brown fabric. “I’ll take care of this,” you say over the bawling. “Go… take a break, or something. You need it.” You smile in a way you hope doesn’t look too frazzled. He hesitates but eventually relents, climbing the ladder to set the next coordinates.

After further investigation, it turns out Grogu was just hungry. That makes sense after you took his hopping snack from him earlier, but you silently thank him for saving Mando from what is still in your opinion a huge mistake.

When you crawl into bed with Mando, he’s in only his underclothes again, and you think about how close you got to having him fuck you on some crates in the hull earlier. It definitely piques your interest, but you meant what you said about him taking a break. He needs to rest.

You take your hand in his and kiss his knuckles one by one before you fall into delirious, blissful sleep.  
__

It’s been a long time since you dreamt about Mando. You hardly need to, now that pretty much everything you fantasized is real. But you’re in the dark place again, a place you now recognize exists directly in correlation with your connection to the Force.

 _Soft, sweet. Strong._ Oh no. That’s Mando’s voice. You’re picking up on _his_ dreams, which is the last thing you want. It’s too much of an invasion of privacy. Gloved hands materialize on your hips, and you look up into his visor when he appears in front of you, startled. _Mando?_ you ask, certain he doesn’t realize you’re real when he says the next words.

 _Want to stay with you. Forever,_ he mutters, tucking your hair back, and if you weren’t already asleep you’d pass out. His dream-hand cups your cheek and you freeze, unsure of what you’re supposed to say or do in this situation. Clearly he thinks about this a lot for it to be permeating his sleep.

 _Forever’s a long time, boss,_ you say nervously. He presses his forehead against yours, murmuring the words that are going to change your life forever.

 _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde._ Then he disappears, the weight of his hands gone, but it doesn’t change anything. In the dream, through your connection, you know exactly what the words in Mando’a mean, and they’re… transformative, to say the least.

_We are one whether together or apart, we will share everything, and we will raise our children as warriors._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys forgot this fic is about dreams. Also, if you're unfamiliar, those were Mandalorian marriage vows at the end. I wonder what Din's thinking about (eyes emoji). I definitely felt better about this chapter, I hope you guys enjoyed it and if you were looking for more horny content, I posted a smutty ficlet thing with the same pairing yesterday on my account >:3c Classes are starting back up for me tomorrow and WOW am I nervous. Always appreciate comments, etc. etc. Thank you for reading!


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